


The Blood Runs Stale

by TheFledglingDM



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Doctor Leorio, Found Family, GNC Kalluto, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Killugon is Background, Kurapika is similar to [REDACTED] from the Spider-Man DLC, M/M, Pining, Swearing, Trans Alluka Zoldyck, Trans Kurapika, Trans Nanika, Transphobia, Vigilante Kurapika, Violence, kurapika is a gay disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 67,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: Yorknew was a vile city.But from these depths rose a -herowas not the right word. The have-nots loved him and the haves feared him, hated him, wondered who this mole was in their ranks who took the upper echelon’s dirty laundry and flung it out to dry. Backroom deals and recordings made it to the paper. Especially corrupt or violent officials were left strung up (alive, though he didn’t seem to care much if they lasted or not) with clippings of their wrongdoings fluttering around them.To some, he was a folk hero. To others, he was a nightmare given flesh. To all he was a reckoning dressed in black and silver andred.He signed his letters and elaborately staged scenes withBloody Chain.---a vigilante hunter x hunter au.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 207
Kudos: 312





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, thank you for clicking! this fic is 100% inspired by this post by tumblr user chrys-tyn: https://chrys-tn.tumblr.com/post/621878469148786688/i-want-a-stupid-leopika-mafia-au-where-kurapika. this idea spiraled from there but this is inspired by their post.
> 
> title is taken from the song "demons," by imagine dragons. i am at heart a simple bitch.
> 
> please enjoy!!

## 

part 1.

Yorknew was a vile city.

There were two classes: the haves, and the have-nots. The haves spent their lives trying to screw over the have-nots; the have-nots spent their lives trying to scrape their way up into the realm of the haves. It was a cesspool of corruption and complicity and backroom deals and subtle and unsubtle forms of violence. The little people could only take so much before they rose up, time after time. Yet they were beaten down every time - into poorer schools and poorer housing, the sparks of their revolution and rejection of the social norms crushed beneath the organized, well-shined leather boots of the state.

But from these depths rose a - _hero_ was not the right word. The have-nots loved him and the haves feared him, hated him, wondered who this mole was in their ranks who took the upper echelon’s dirty laundry and flung it out to dry. Backroom deals and recordings made it to the paper. Especially corrupt or violent officials were left strung up (alive, though he didn’t seem to care much if they lasted or not) with clippings of their wrongdoings fluttering around them.

To some, he was a folk hero. To others, he was a nightmare given flesh. To all he was a reckoning dressed in black and silver and _red._

He signed his letters and elaborately staged scenes with _Bloody Chain._

~

If he were honest - and, contrary to popular belief, Kurapika _tried_ to be honest - the last thing he wanted to do was be awake right now.

Yesterday was the day from hell, which was only different from the one before it because it was Wednesday and everyone hated Wednesdays. First: sixteen hours of work, arguing in court and meeting clients and reviewing briefs and kissing ass and almost killing one assistant and later apologizing because his other assistant sent him her steady, disapproving gaze long enough he wanted to sink into the floor. And then there was his _other_ work, researching and sending a taped file to his contact with the paper and then patrolling until the wee hours of the morning and getting walloped in the side by some bodyguard, bruising his ribs a little and his pride a lot. And then, at the end of it all, he got three hours of sleep.

But all of that was a distant buzz in his head, because he was awake, and it was _Thursday._ And Thursday didn’t suck completely because Thursday was _Tie Day._

Kurapika was many things: assistant district attorney for Yorknew City; vigilante/folk hero/terror of the dickhead elite known as Bloody Chain; possibly a murderer, and Kurapika should be more bothered by the fact that he wasn’t more concerned about the _possible_ part of that. In all, he was five feet, seven inches of wrath and spite.

He was also a hopeless, pining, stupid asshole who sorted the days of his week by his crush’s _(crush,_ like he was thirteen again and worried about his sexuality and his gender, _fuck)_ wardrobe.

Kurapika was already cranky from his aforementioned three hours of sleep and bruised ribs, so he was not in the best mental space when he waited in line at the coffee shop three blocks _past_ his office from his walk from his apartment. He tried not to tap his foot like the prick he knew he was, though he couldn’t help but glance at his watch. 7:18. He had a meeting at 7:45. He was cutting it close. He would skip it altogether if it meant he got to see The Doctor.

Kurapika stiffened when the door opened behind him and ushered in the scent of the autumn morning and that familiar scent, something smoky and fresh that reminded Kurapika of a bonfire on a beach. He chanced a glance back, _because people move in response to outside stimulus, such as movement or noise, it’s normal to look,_ eyes glancing over a gray wool peacoat, a snug-fitting white button-up, a blue tie. Tanned skin, dark hair, darker eyes behind wire-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses.

Kurapika glanced away before The Doctor could look up from his phone. He didn’t feel like the youngest ADA in Yorknew’s history at that moment. He felt very stupid and very out of place and he stepped forward, sending the brown-skinned, freckle-faced barista with the band-aid on his cheek a perfunctory smile and ordering a mocha latte, three shots of espresso, and an earl gray tea, please and thank you.

Kurapika paid and went to stand to the side, pulling out his phone and leaning against the wall so no one could get at his back in the crush of people waiting for their drinks. He had about eight hundred new emails from yesterday, and Kurapika sighed as he started to filter through them. He should get an intern to go through this, really. He wrinkled his nose in irritation at Hisoka’s latest borderline unprofessional email and at Chrollo’s latest update of their caseload.

In fact, Kurapika was so focused on his emails and preparing for the meeting he needed to attend with Melody (reviewing the file she had put together, squinting at his phone screen), he did not realize someone had stood beside him for a few moments. This interloper was not _too_ close, standing almost exactly a foot away, far enough they would not need to talk and definitely not touch, but close enough for Kurapika’s stomach to bottom out at the sight of a familiar silhouette in his periphery and smell that cologne.

Kurapika swallowed dryly. Should he say something? _Good morning? Hi, how are you, I’ve noticed we frequent this shop often? What’s your name? How are you this fine morning? You’re a doctor, I can see, but what do you practice? Do you like men?_

No, nothing. He would say nothing at all, ever, and he would die alone and young and this doctor would never notice and Kurapika needed coffee because now he was miserable and -

“Leorio!”

\- and the teenage barista called cheerfully across the shop, which Kurapika would not have cared about at all, except the man beside Kurapika looked up from his phone and waved. Kurapika could sense his smile like a ray of sun and it made him want to melt to the tiled floor.

“Gon!” The Doctor said cheerfully. His voice was low and so so warm and just a bit rough, like he smoked once upon a time but quit the habit because he was a good, conscientious doctor. “Mornin’, how are you? How’s the cheek?”

“It’s fine,” Gon hummed, not caring that he was now, apparently, having a half-yelled conversation across the crowded shop. “No swelling and I’m keeping it covered.”

“How’re the stitches?” The Doctor - Leorio, he had a name, and it was _Leorio_ \- asked. “Taking the antibiotics?”

“Yes,” Gon said. He pulled a series of levers and produced a frothing confection to hand to a waiting customer. The single word told Kurapika that this kid - he couldn’t have been older than twenty - adored this doctor. “And I’m not scratching, and I haven’t missed a dose, and I’ll be back to get my stitches out next week.”

“Good,” Leorio said with a quiet authority that sent heat flooding Kurapika’s face. His fingers squeezed around his phone.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?”

It took a few moments for Kurapika to realize that The Doctor was, in fact, speaking to _him._ Kurapika looked up (and up and up, this doctor was at least six-three, holy _shit),_ and The Doctor chuckled, ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Happens anytime I see a patient outside the clinic, y’know. Can’t help it. Didn’t mean to yell in your ear.”

“Oh.” Kurapika blinked and prayed his irises weren’t scarlet. Tried to reconnect his brain to his mouth, because he was a _lawyer,_ dammit, and the city paid him to speak for it, but Leorio The Clinic Doctor was suddenly talking to him and his brain was currently screeching off the rails. “It’s fine.”

A beat of silence. Kurapika assumed their one and only interaction was done forever now, but then the doctor grinned and held out his hand.

“I always seem to see you here, but I’ve never gotten to say hello. Leorio Paladinight. I work at the free clinic down the street.”

Kurapika tried not to short-circuit. Of course, _of course_ the doctor he had been swooning over for the past several weeks was on staff at one of the chronically overworked, understaffed, undersupplied free clinics in the city. Stiffly, he clasped the doctor’s hand. His palm was broad and callused from work and his skin was hot against his and yes, Kurapika could be killed on patrol tonight and he would die happy. “Kurapika. I’m…” _complicit in making all your patients’ lives hell, sort of, but I’m also trying to make it better via vigilante justice, so maybe it balances out?_ “...a lawyer.”

But Leorio only grinned. He had a chipped tooth and a slightly crooked nose, like he had been in a few scrapes in his life. “Good to meet you.”

“And you,” Kurapika said, because it was this or ask if he had noticed him staring at him for the past three months. Fortunately, at that moment, Gon called out Kurapika’s drink order, and he was able to escape to breathe and pick up his drinks. He went to the coffee station to put two honey packets in Melody’s tea, trying not to panic when this brought him close enough to speak with Leorio again.

“Double-fisting it, today?” Leorio asked lightly. He reached up to adjust his tie, long fingers set off by blue silk, and Kurapika’s mouth went dry. Despite himself, however, he chuckled. Wonder of wonders, this man could even inspire _laughter_ from him.

“Not since law school,” Kurapika said honestly. “This is for my assistant. She is more than patient with the workload and I try to show my appreciation.”

In other words, Melody was one of two people in this world who knew Kurapika’s second life and supported and cared for him and made sure he didn’t literally work himself into a breakdown.

“That’s decent of you,” Leorio said, and Kurapika wondered if the surprise lacing the word _decent_ ought to sting. It did not, he decided. He figured rubbing shoulders with the most corrupt of the city’s officials - indeed, working with and for them - merited a bit of suspicion.

“Thank you,” Kurapika said. He held his drinks tightly between his hands. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I should...” will his feet to move, walk away, _walk away from this kind, funny, good man and leave him out of your bloody clutches._

Leorio grinned. “Don’t let me keep you. I wanted to show my own appreciation for our interns today, myself, so I’ll be here half the morning waiting for all their drinks.”

“That’s...decent of you,” Kurapika said.

“Can barely pay ‘em enough, so might as well keep ‘em caffeinated,” Leorio said. He sent Kurapika a jaunty two-fingered salute. “Good to meet you. I’ll see you around?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said, too stiff and awkward because it was that or just _melt._ “Have a nice day, doctor. It was...very nice to meet you.”

The platitude hung too heavy and honest on his tongue. Before Leorio could reply, Kurapika had swept out of the shop to make his way to his office. Kurapika licked his chapped lips in the cold morning air, tasting the doctor’s name and rolling it over his tongue. _Leorio, Leorio, Le-o-ri-o._

This was getting outright pathetic, though, so Kurapika made himself take a deep breath and clear all thoughts of handsome doctors from his mind. It was past seven-thirty, and he had a meeting to get to.

A fact that his assistant, Melody, was very aware of as the elevator doors swung open. Kurapika was not a tall man, but Melody was _tiny,_ barely breaking five feet. Still, with her arms folded over her skirt suit and her deeply unimpressed expression, she still managed to make a twenty-nine year old man feel like a teenager again.

“Cutting it close, are we?” Melody asked, arcing one brow. She accepted the mug Kurapika handed her apologetically. Her light eyes examined the sleeve of the take-out mug, and Kurapika tried to ignore the smile she bit back as he walked to his office. “Happy Whale Coffee for the third time this week?”

“I try to support local businesses,” Kurapika said, his tone clipped. He started parsing through the stacks and stacks of papers on his desk, looking for his notes he had prepped for meeting with this client.

“You live near three other independently owned chains that _don’t_ make you pass your own place of work,” Melody chuckled. The tea was succeeding at soothing her minor irritation with him, at least.

“I like the coffee there,” Kurapika said.

“Oh, Kurapika, you don’t pay me enough to lie to me,” Melody admonished gently. She seemed to take pity on him and magically summoned a file from the depths of Kurapika’s desk, handing the plain manila folder to him. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Are you ready for the meeting?”

The unopened folder in his hand was a resounding no, but it was 7:43 and Kurapika had not been late a day in his life, so he nodded and peeled his way out of the office. He sipped his mocha, the chocolate almost making the four total shots of espresso palatable. The keyword being _almost._

As they walked, Melody tapped Kurapika on his wrist. She peered up at him with a small smile.

“Just be careful, Kurapika.”

“I always am,” He assured her with a smile. That was enough to make Melody laugh aloud.

“You’re cheerful this morning,” she observed. “Your bearing is...lighter, somehow." She glanced up at him with a knowing smile as she opened the door. "Perhaps all of that coffee is good for you.”

~

Life was funny, Kurapika mused as he took one-two-three punches right to the gut.

Three hours of sleep a night and five cups of coffee a day? Just fine.

Vigilantism? Not so much.

But at least, Kurapika mused as he ducked the punch swinging for his face, twisting and forcing his chains up, around this bodyguard’s wrist and jerking sharply until there was a loud _crack_ in the alley, this was a two-way street. Bad for him, but even worse for others’ health.

The bodyguard’s howling was making too much noise; Kurapika tightened his grip on his chains so this bodyguard could not move and swung his head forward to knock him out with a headbutt. Blood spurted over Kurapika’s forehead, ran down his face and spattered his sunglasses and dripped onto his black linen shirt and leather jacket.

(Look, there wasn’t exactly anyone offering up services to make a damn _superhero_ costume, so Kurapika was left searching for his ass-kicking outfits at secondhand and consignment shops and paying with cash, sue him for not having a _look.)_

As it was, Kurapika looked plenty terrifying as he turned his attention to his real target: the shaking, weeping CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech corporation. He tried to scramble back further as Kurapika advanced on him, but Kurapika was faster, catching his shoulder and throwing his back forcibly against the brick wall. One forearm across his throat kept him still; the unsheathed knife at his jugular kept him from yelling.

“P-p-please, Chains, I - I’ll give you whatever you want,” The CEO whimpered. “Money, you want money? I’ll give you a blank check. Or, or drugs? Got a habit? I know a guy, I’ll hook you up -”

“Shut up,” Kurapika hissed. His voice was low and muffled through his red dust mask. “I don’t give a _damn_ about your blood money.”

“Then what do you want?” The CEO begged. “Anything you want, anything at all - please, I’m begging you -”

Kurapika smiled without pleasure behind his mask. “Unfortunately, it’s far too late for begging, Mr. Chairman.”

He swung his fist, and the CEO crumpled in an unconscious heap against the wall.

~

The paper materialized in front of Kurapika’s eyes almost as if by magic.

 _ **PEARTECH CEO ‘IN CHAINS:’ VIGILANTE STRIKES AGAIN, EXPOSING MONEY LAUNDERING, UNION VIOLATIONS, UNSAFE & UNSANITARY CONDITIONS ON ASSEMBLY LINE,**_ the headline screamed. The section above the fold featured a greyscale photograph of the CEO from two nights before on a rooftop. He was chained to a fire escape, head turned away from the camera and chains criss-crossing the rooftop like a spider’s web. Hanging from the chains were stills of security footage, print-outs of incriminating emails, transcripts of illicit meetings. More than enough to put another corrupt businessman away, regardless of how hard the city’s district attorney would try to cut a deal.

“Well done,” the woman hummed as she slid into the booth across from him. Kurapika glanced up from where he was drinking coffee and picking at a bit of toast, abandoning his crossword and his casenotes for his ten o’clock trial. “I thought the piece about him cheating on his marriage was a nice touch. Ultimately unnecessary, but I respect the attention to detail.”

“So long as it keeps you interested,” Kurapika said, smirking into his cup of coffee. “Good morning, Bisky.”

Biscuit “Bisky” Krueger snorted into her mug. “You’re too young to try that with me.” Big brown eyes peered over the rim of her mug. “But really. Well done. Did you find anything helpful for _your_ ends?”

Kurapika sighed. “It was another dead-end. But thank you for the tip nevertheless. What’s a Van Gogh painting, eleven words? _Starry Night_ doesn’t fit.”

“No idea,” Bisky replied. “Who knows more than that one painting?”

“Some people like art, Bisky,” Kurapika said superciliously. Bisky glared at him for being a pretentious little shit as the waitress came by to take her order. Once the exhausted college co-ed stepped away, he pushed away his crossword. “But you didn’t ask to meet me because of a little thank-you like this. Another tip?”

“Not quite.” Bisky poured more sugar into her coffee and took her time swirling her spoon. “I need a favor.”

Kurapika’s brows rose. He echoed, “A favor.”

Bisky nodded. Her blonde ponytail swayed over her forehead like she was a high-school cheerleader and not a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist. “I can’t say much here in public -”

“ - We use burner phones and talk in codes and you _still_ can’t go into it here?” Kurapika asked. Usually _Kurapika_ was the ultra-paranoid one, the one who would walk around a block three times to make sure he wasn’t being tailed before he stopped anywhere to do his _unofficial_ business. It drove Bisky and Melody mad. “What the hell is it? Trafficking?”

“No, I’m still trying to dig up more names for that,” Bisky said automatically. “So, be on the watch for that.” She slid a piece of folded-up white notebook paper towards him. Kurapika lifted an eyebrow as he unfolded it to see nothing more than a phone number.

“So, I give this person a call, and…?” Kurapika prompted. “Tell them it’s the assistant district attorney?”

“Just tell him you're a friend of Bisky’s,” the journalist said. Kurapika wanted to argue, but there was a hard gleam in her eyes that he only saw when a story really got to her. Like when Bisky asked him to infiltrate the hospital CEO’s office to get proof she had been taking kickbacks from an opiate company, or when she learned that not all the dancers at a local club were strictly legal or willing. “This is important. Please give them a call.”

“Sure,” Kurapika shrugged. He had three murder trials that week, and about two dozen cases he needed to actually review before he met with clients, and Chrollo was breathing down his neck and Hisoka had taken to signing his briefs in pink glittery gel pen, and he was investigating a series of cover-ups in the local prison and the health inspector was turning a blind eye on fire hazards in public housing for the right price, but sure, he’ll add this to his to-do list.

He liked Bisky. Plus, Melody was eyeing him from her spot at the counter, where she was providing backup, so he was going to do this if he wanted to or not. Which he did.

“Thanks,” Bisky said, her shoulders loosening. “I really appreciate this.”

“Of course.” Kurapika glanced at his watch. Almost seven a.m. on this fine Monday morning. “I need to get to work.”

“And I.” Bisky dug into her computer bag and pulled out a massive laptop that could have doubled as a bludgeoning weapon. Kurapika sent her a small but genuine smile as he set down some bills.

“I’ve got breakfast. Always a pleasure, Bisky. We’ll be in touch.”

Bisky hummed her acknowledgement, already outlining something on her yellow legal pad. Kurapika smirked to himself as he slid out of the booth, falling in step with a light-footed Melody on the way to the door.

Melody put her black beret over her head as they walked into the gray autumn morning. The wind was on the cold side of brisk, and some kind of unholy mix of rain and sleet hit Kurapika’s cheeks in stinging little spikes as they strolled down the sidewalk.

“What was that about?” Melody asked above her audible _brr!_

“Bisky would like me to make a call,” Kurapika said. “Wouldn’t say more.”

“Is this for work,” Melody asked, adjusting her footsteps so as not to step on any of the cracks in the sidewalk, “or _work?”_

“I’m simply calling as a friend of Bisky,” Kurapika said in lieu of admitting _I don’t know and I’m not sure I care because it’s Bisky._ “Whatever that means.”

“Hm,” Melody hummed the pitch like she was finding a starting note. “I suppose we will learn.” The wind gusted, somehow blowing directly into Kurapika’s face no matter which direction he faced. “I could use some tea. Let’s step in here.”

“Sure,” Kurapika said automatically, too busy thinking about this favor he had promised Bisky to notice where Melody was leading. Which was how he found himself in the massive line in Happy Whale Coffee. Which was fine. Normal. Why wouldn’t they be here? It was on their way back to the office, which was more than Kurapika could say about his visits here for the rest of the week. Still -

 _“What_ are we doing here?” Kurapika hissed, bending down towards Melody’s ear to keep from making a scene. His stomach flipped and his heart leapt into his throat from nerves. She smiled up at him, buck teeth flashing, the cheerful picture of innocence except Kurapika knew her too damn well to miss the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“You’re here so often,” she said. “I wanted to try it out myself. Take in the ambiance.”

Kurapika bit his tongue. He knew how to argue, and he knew when he had utterly _lost_ any debate. Melody was a monster on cross-examination, practically a walking lie detector. So he shut up and pulled out his newspaper and returned to his crossword, furrowing his brow because the place was as busy and bustling as usual.

They were able to order and shuffle off to the side, finding a small table to sit and wait because they did not have anywhere to be until ten and they had their bags so they could get a “change of scenery” from the office. Kurapika could not think of a good reason to argue, and he _did_ need a bit of a breather, so he allowed Melody to pick a seat near the window to “allow plenty of natural light” to shine on them this rainy autumn morning.

It was going all well and fine, Kurapika pouring through his case briefs and files and reviewing facts of his case and his argument before the sound of the door opening and a familiar head of dark hair made Kurapika’s entire stomach bottom out.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Kurapika hissed. Alarmed, Melody looked up from her notes.

“Kurapika, is something wrong?” she asked across the table. She was tense trying not to whip her head around in search of an incoming threat. “Is someone -”

“Hide me,” Kurapika ordered Melody, as if the petite woman could hide anything. He lifted his file to his face in a makeshift shield.

“Kurapika, _what_ is happening?” Melody demanded, because she thought her supervisor was a functional adult-slash-vigilante and not a goddamn prepubescent. “Is -?”

“Oh, Kurapika!” And please, _please_ someone kill him, because Leorio was about ten feet tall and his grin was infectious and his voice carrying and he strode toward them with a cheerful grin and Kurapika felt like he was approaching the executioner’s block, about to be cut to ribbons by this doctor’s brown eyes. “Mornin’!”

Kurapika took a breath, made himself smile back like a normal person. “Good morning. Leorio, yes?” As if he ever forgot a fact, as if he hadn’t spent the past four days with his heart adjusting its tempo to match the syllables of his name. Melody caught this immediately, but fortunately she did not call him on his bullshit in the middle of this coffee shop.

“How was your weekend - oh, my bad!” He said, catching sight of Melody. “Am I interrupting work?”

“Not at all,” Melody said before Kurapika could cut this short with an emphatic _yes please go away, but not forever, just while there is someone here to see me make a fool of myself._ She craned her neck to meet Leorio’s gaze and held out a hand. “Melody. I am Kurapika’s assistant.”

“Leorio Paladiknight,” the doctor said. He smiled and shook Melody’s hand, warm and friendly and Kurapika gulped down his coffee so he would have something to do with his hands and scalded his tongue. Leorio needed to bend to a ridiculous angle so as not to tower Melody, but he made the motion look charming and welcoming instead of like he was looming above her, back twisted at an absurd angle. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Melody said. She glanced between the doctor and Kurapika, and Kurapika knew he was not imagining the clever glint in her eyes. “Kurapika, how is your crossword going?”

“Oh, it’s -” Kurapika _stammered,_ and Leorio didn’t know how much that damned him but Melody did, and she smiled to herself and glanced into her mug.

“I need more honey for this tea, but have you worked out that clue that is giving you a hard time?” She asked. “Excuse me.”

Kurapika was either going to fire her or give her a raise. He decided both, as Leorio stuck his hands in his pockets and peered down at him. He was wearing his scrubs today, navy blue setting off olive-toned skin and revealing the line of his throat, peeking at the curve of his collarbones. Leorio sipped his coffee and Kurapika’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple work.

“What’s the hint?” Leorio asked, like a normal person.

“A famous Van Gogh painting,” Kurapika said. Did he sound like he had been running? Had someone turned the temperature of this coffee shop up to eighty degrees? He felt like he was about to sweat through his tailored suit. He was more nervous now than he had been in court for years. “Eleven letters. _Starry Night_ doesn’t fit.”

Leorio tilted his head. “They think people know multiple Van Gogh paintings off the top of their heads?” He shook his head. “Wish I knew.”

“It’s fine,” Kurapika said. “It’ll come to me - wait, what are you doing?”

Leorio looked up from his phone screen. “I’m looking it up?”

“That’s cheating,” Kurapika said, scandalized.

Leorio laughed. “Says who?”

“Says - the rules!” Kurapika said. He tried to wave his hands in that elegant way of his when he was making a point in court, but considering this was about the morning crossword, he feared he only looked a bit manic. “The unspoken rules of crossword puzzles! If you can’t get an answer, you answer the prompts around it, and then you come back to it!”

“But what do we have technology for, if not to answer these kinds of questions?” Leorio asked. He was grinning now, so clearly he didn’t think Kurapika was an overbearing, pretentious asshole. Which put him in the minority among Kurapika’s acquaintances, actually. He started counting letters on his fingers. “You said eleven? _Irises_ doesn’t work. Nor does _Cafe Terrace at Night._ Are you including ‘the?’”

“Neither of those even _look_ like they have eleven letters. And I’m not listening,” Kurapika said. His mouth was twitching funny. It took him a few moments to realize he was laughing. “This is _cheating.”_

“Yeah, well, now _I’m_ invested in finding a Van Gogh painting with eleven letters. Pure coincidence. Would you argue that’s cheating?”

“Depends,” Kurapika said. He felt himself smiling now, competitive nature rising even as he tried to engage in this banter. “As the prosecutor or defense? As defense, I would say one can investigate whatever they want, but as prosecutor, which I am more likely to be because of my career, I would say it still is cheating, because your investigation was _spurred_ by this question. The average person is unlikely to choose to specifically look up eleven-letter Van Gogh paintings on a whim otherwise.”

“You sound _really_ fun at parties,” Leorio said, which should have been insulting, but he was grinning when he said it and for a few blessed minutes Kurapika wasn’t thinking about violence or work or vengeance. “Anyway, try _Red Vineyard.”_

“Fine,” Kurapika conceded. “Only as an intellectual curiosity.”

“Of course.” Leorio’s eyes glowed in the muted gray light coming in through the window. Kurapika had to bite back another smile as Melody returned to quietly reclaim her seat.

“And…” Kurapika wrote the letters. “It fits.”

Leorio grinned down at him. The barista called his name, and Leorio glanced back to the counter. “That’s breakfast. Good to see you, Kurapika, and very nice to meet you, Melody.” He waved to them both. “Have a wonderful rest of your day.”

He left, waving to Gon and half-jogging down the road. He did not look back, which Kurapika did not know because he did not watch until his back rounded the corner.

He also did not blush when he glanced back at his assistant and saw her smirking at him.

“‘It’s good coffee,’” Melody quoted.

Kurapika sipped his coffee just to be contrary. “It _is.”_

“Of course,” Melody agreed magnanimously. She sipped her tea. “He’s very nice, Kurapika.”

“Melody,” Kurapika said warningly. Melody held up her hands in defense, preempting anything Kurapika could have protested.

“We’ve already had this talk, I know,” she said. “I’m not trying to stop you. But...I don’t remember a time I have ever seen you smile as much as you just did with that man.”

Kurapika palmed his face. He felt the heat of a blush rising up his neck and ears like a heavy scarf. “Melody…”

His assistant snickered into her cup. “I think he found you charming, too.”

Kurapika stood up abruptly. “I’m going to make a call.”

Melody was not a loud woman, but her laugh still carried in his ears as she assured him she would watch their things as he stepped outside.

The wind had let up some, but the downside was that it was raining properly now. Kurapika grimaced as he reached into his pocket for Bisky’s note. He knew Melody’s concerns well: she feared that he was working himself too hard, as liable to injure himself via burnout as via a knife to the gut.

_“I’m here for you every step of the way,” Melody had once assured Kurapika. “But if healing and closure is what you seek, Kurapika, I don’t know if you will find it on this road.”_

Wherever this road led, Kurapika was too far down it now to change directions. Nothing could turn him from this path, not even a smart-mouthed doctor with kind eyes.

Kurapika dialed the number Bisky handed him and pressed the phone hard enough against his ear it hurt. It rang five times, finally cutting off sharply on the sixth ring.

 _“-llo?”_ The voice was tinny, bleary, like the speaker was waking up. Kurapika’s back stiffened - the speaker sounded young. _“Hullo? Who is this?”_

Kurapika swallowed. “This is a friend of Bisky’s. I’m told you were expecting me.”

A pause. Then there was the sound of something rustling, like someone was turning over in bed. They spoke again, and Kurapika’s suspicions about the relative youth of this mysterious caller became even stronger. _“Took you long enough.”_

Kurapika tried not to roll his eyes at the resentful tone; if Bisky was sending this kid to him, then they really must need something. So he said, “I only met with Bisky an hour ago. My name is Kurapika. And you are…?”

 _“Fucking tired,”_ the kid said. He muffled a yawn across the call. _“And there’s too much to talk about to do it over the phone. Meet me at 420 East Avenue tonight at eight?”_

Kurapika sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a coming headache. “Very well. Your name?”

Another beat. _“Killua. Come alone.”_

He hung up.

~

420 East Avenue was, it turned out, a combination KFC/Taco Bell/Pizza Hut. Kurapika frowned as his shoes _stuck_ to something on the floor as he stepped through the door. To distract himself from whatever unholy thing was gumming up his loafers, he looked around the room, searching for whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting. This Killua figure had not given him anything to go on, so it was with a middling sigh that Kurapika peered about this establishment.

A set of ice-blue eyes glaring at him from under the brim of a baseball cap caught his attention. Kurapika met those eyes, set in a pinched-looking face with a deeply suspicious curl to the lips, and the figure nodded to him. Kurapika nodded back, walking to him and skirting around any of the counters because he would not eat anything prepared in this establishment under threat of torture.

“Killua, I assume,” Kurapika said as he sat. He was correct in his initial estimation: this kid was young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Upon closer inspection, there was a tell-tale gleam to his eyes that spoke volumes of the stress he was feeling. There were purple bags below his eyes. His gaze kept flicking to the exits, like he was preparing to make a quick getaway. His left hand kept twisting a silver ring on his right pinky.

“Did you come alone?” Killua asked without preamble. “Were you followed?”

Kurapika lifted a brow and tried not to feel insulted. “Of course I did, and of _course_ not.”

Killua eyed him for a few more moments. Then, he shrugged, returning to his task, which was apparently to eat his way through a bit of everything in this “restaurant.” Killua dipped a french fry in queso dip. “Want anything?”

“I do not,” Kurapika replied automatically. He had not meant to be funny, but something about this statement made Killua laugh, a sharp, harsh sound.

“You’re missing out,” he said. He dipped another fry in his styrofoam cup of mashed potatoes and gravy.

“I’m sure.” Kurapika said the most noncommittal thing he could. “I confess, I’m at a loss here. Why exactly did Bisky send you to me?”

“‘Cuz you’re a lawyer,” Killua said. He took a sip of something alarmingly green. “And I need some legal help.”

He seemed to be waiting for Kurapika to respond, as if this was at all enough information for him to sort things out. “What kind of legal help?”

Killua took a bite of a bean-and-cheese burrito. Reddish-orange beans spurted out at the bottom, breaking through the thin tortilla, and Kurapika felt his stomach roll at the sight. He had been approaching something like hunger, but now he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to eat again. Killua said, “Depends. But I want to get official custody of my fourteen-year-old sisters and twelve-year-old brother, or help them secure emancipation.”

Kurapika studied this child again. Barely twenty, and he wanted custody of his three kid siblings? With what prospects, on what grounds?

Already this was giving him a headache, so Kurapika said, “I’m sorry, but I think you may have been misinformed.” Which was very odd. Bisky had never spoken wrong before. “I’m a criminal lawyer. I think you’re looking for a family law attorney.”

“Oh, no,” Killua said cheerfully. “No, you’re exactly who I’m looking for.”

There was an edge to his voice, something dangerous and razor-sharp in the edge of his smirk. It may have chilled a lesser man, but Kurapika was not a lesser man. He sighed, in no mood to suffer this teen’s dramatics. “And why is that?”

Killua washed down a bite of fragrant fried chicken with a few gulps of his neon-colored drink. He carefully wiped the grease from his fingers, blue eyes seeming to take Kurapika apart. Soft, flyaway curls of white hair poked out from under the brim of his cap. Something about the sight triggered a memory in the back of Kurapika’s mind, vague and distant warning bells or red flags, but he could not place them. Still, Kurapika had gone through law school and argued in court and walked into prisons to question informants and stared District Attorney Chrollo “The Spider” Lucifer in the eye every day as he worked to raze the man’s sick kingdom to the ground. Kurapika doubled as a _fucking vigilante._ There wasn’t much this kid could do to surprise him.

The boy reached a hand forward. “My name is Killua Zoldyck, and I am the child of Yorknew Commissioner Silva Zoldyck. I am turning myself to you as a gesture of good faith in order to begin an investigation into every corrupt, nepotist, and illegal activity my family has been involved in for three generations. I am willing to testify publicly. All I ask of you is witness protection and emancipation for my younger siblings.”

Well. There wasn’t much this kid could do to surprise Kurapika except _that._ Killua’s blue eyes were wiser, harder, older than his years as they narrowed. “Do we have a deal?”

Kurapika eyed him consideringly. _Now_ he recognized this boy - he shared the same blue eyes, pale skin, and silver hair as his father, Silva Zoldyck. Most people would think that the most powerful person in a city of ten million people like Yorknew would be the mayor. But most people would be wrong. That title went to the commissioner, because while mayors were all politics and bluster, nothing they wanted would happen without the funds to get it done. And the commissioner controlled the purse strings.

Rumor had it the Zoldycks controlled much more than just that. They were old money, and their funds and influence picked up where their political involvement allegedly stopped (though Kurapika knew that the line between personal and professional business in this city was nonexistent). With the old name and old money the Zoldyck line carried, it was an open secret that they had their fingers in many pies, both legal and illegal.

Rumor had it their political rivals resigned in shame among scandal. Their business rivals went bankrupt or were bought out. And anyone who tried to look any deeper into their dealings disappeared.

Rumor had it their children were all of a _public service_ bent: the eldest a member of the mayor’s cabinet, the second eldest a rising star in the stock and investment banking industry, and the third, prodigy child was Silva Zoldyck’s hand-picked successor to the commissioner position. Never mind that it was, officially, an _elected_ position.

The rumors said nothing about any younger children, and Kurapika found that interesting, telling, and concerning.

Kurapika studied the young man across from him. He shared his father’s coloring but the graceful lines of his face were all his own. Much as this was definitely going to bite Kurapika in the ass later, he knew what his answer was.

“And what do you get out of this deal?” Kurapika asked.

“I just fucking told you,” Killua retorted sharply. “Protection for my siblings. I want them out of this freakshow. I don’t care what happens to me.”

There was a wild, desperate gleam to Killua’s gaze as he snarled at Kurapika. Then he ducked his head, looking down at the pile of food on his tray and shrinking back into himself like he was trying to avoid attention for his outburst.

Kurapika sighed. He already felt a tension headache coming on. “I don’t make promises that I can’t keep. I will need to make some calls to people about even beginning this investigation. Do you have anything I can give them for now to get that started?”

“I hoped you would say that,” Killua said. He grinned and slid Kurapika a USB across the table. “This is just a sampler. There’s more where that came from, from me and my siblings. A lot more. Will this be enough?”

“I’ll have to see,” Kurapika said honestly. The USB felt slight and small, even in his fingers. He glanced at the storage and saw that it held 8MB of storage. He wondered if it was all used. “I’ll put in some calls and reach out to you soon. Will you and your siblings be safe for the next few days?”

Killua rolled his eyes. “Safe is relative.”

“That is _not_ an answer,” Kurapika said coolly. Killua snorted out a laugh.

“We’ll be fine, old man, don’t get too bent out of shape.” He stood up and grabbed his plastic tray. “My shitty family won’t go any more off the rails than usual in the next few days as you cross all your t’s, or whatever the hell. We’ll be fine. Talk to you soon, Mr…?”

“Kurapika is fine,” He said, surprising both himself and the kid. Killua sent him a grin, dumping his trash into the bin and taking a long, loud slurp out of his cup.

“I’ll see you around.” For a second, the careful mask of indolent youth dropped, and Kurapika saw a well-meaning, scared, relieved young man who just wanted a little something _good_ to happen. It sent a wave of nostalgia rushing through his gut and made Kurapika long for an innocence long lost. “Thanks, old man.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the investigation into the zoldycks begins, and it's already getting complicated. bloody chain makes an unexpected ally.
> 
> CW for depictions of violence, language, and referenced/implied transphobia.

## 

part 2.

“I need a favor,” Kurapika said into his phone. Apparently he was on speakerphone, because Mizai’s reply was almost drowned out by his partner’s loud, guffawing laugh in the background. Which would have been annoying anyway, except Morel’s laughter made their dog start barking up a storm, too, and that just threw out any hope Kurapika had of keeping this conversation unnoticed by the rest of their police precinct.

“Of course,” Mizai said smoothly. “You only talk to us when you need anything.”

“I do _not -”_ Kurapika sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am sorry that _my job_ as ADA and _your jobs_ as detectives makes it difficult for us to catch up over beers, or whatever it is you all do. But we need to meet, and I am in a coffee shop, so what would you like me to pick up for you?”

If possible, Morel laughed even _harder,_ and even Mizai chuckled across the airwaves. “A black coffee for me, light roast, two sugars, and a caramel macchiato for Morel.”

“And a breakfast sandwich!” Morel shouted, seeming to forget, as always, that he did not need to shout when on speakerphone. “The one with sausage! And make it two, Sergeant Pupper gets jealous.”

“I am _not_ buying Sergeant Pupper a breakfast sandwich,” Kurapika hissed. “I am hanging up now, and I will be at the precinct in twenty minutes.”

“See you soon,” Mizai said, and Kurapika hung up the phone with a sigh, puffing out the air so his bangs fluttered up.

“And what did poor Sergeant Pupper ever do to you?” Leorio asked, using his superior height to call over the heads of the three people between them in line. Kurapika bit back a smile and allowed the grumbling business folks to pass, falling back in line to stand beside the doctor so as not to create a louder scene.

“She has only ever been a pleasure to work with,” Kurapika said, thinking of the three-year-old golden retriever. “But begging is unseemly, and human food does not agree with a dog’s constitution.”

Leorio scoffed. “You clearly haven’t met any of the strays around here, then. They’d eat the shoes off your feet if you stepped in something they wanted.”

“What a vivid mental picture,” Kurapika hummed. He glanced up at Leorio through his lashes. “Do you speak from experience?”

“Don’t you lawyer folks have something down about not needing to say things that make you look bad?” Leorio asked.

“Only in cases of self-incrimination, when you have something to hide,” Kurapika said. There was a smile twitching on his lips. It was too easy to fall into this banter. “How are you this morning, Dr. Paladiknight?”

Leorio’s cheeks flushed a fetching shade of pink. “Leorio, please. And if all goes well, it will be another day of flu shots as autumn keeps rolling in. We received another shipment yesterday, so the clinic will be busy. I’m here getting our interns more coffee in preparation for our vaccine drive today.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Kurapika said instead of replying with, _I had to send a child back into an unsafe home environment last night, so I also feel good about myself._ He was spared from needing to say more by stepping forward and placing his order for three drinks and two breakfast sandwiches. Leorio sent him another smile as he rejoined Kurapika in the waiting area. Kurapika wondered if he would ever stop feeling his stomach lurch and face go hot at seeing that smile, and then he remembered who he was and reminded himself he would never get to know.

“Before I forget, have you gotten your flu shot yet?” Leorio asked, and he was such a _doctor_ and he was so _sweet_ that Kurapika wanted to drop through the floor. He pulled out his phone and pretended to send Melody a text so that his face would return to its proper coloring.

“Not yet, but I will soon,” Kurapika said. Perhaps next time he picked up his prescription, if he could get it at his pharmacy.

And, _great,_ now this doctor was making him _laugh_ and reminding him to get his freaking _flu shot,_ Kurapika was _sunk._

“Morning, Leorio!” 

Kurapika looked up as the freckle-faced barista waved at them again. The band-aid was gone from his face, revealing a freshly healing scar that shone pink on his tanned skin.

“Good morning, Gon. That scratch is healing well,” Leorio observed. Gon sent the good doctor a grin so wide it stretched his cheeks and went back to making coffees.

“Is he your brother?” Kurapika asked Leorio. They weren’t identical, but with their tan skin, dark, spiked hair, and brown eyes, he would believe it.

Leorio shook his head. “Nah. Gon’s from out of town and goes to the community college around here, though. He’s been in the clinic a few times and doesn’t have many friends around, so I keep an eye on him when I can. He’s a good kid.”

Kurapika watched Gon hand off a coffee and hot chocolate to a father and son pair. The child wanted a high-five, and Gon leaned over the counter with a huge grin on his face to deliver it. Kurapika smiled down at the floor again. “I can tell.” He swallowed. “It’s clear he admires you.”

Leorio went pink over his cheeks again, and Kurapika was spared from finding out how he would reply with the call of his name. Kurapika hurried forward to fetch his food and drinks. He peered up at Leorio, his hands full and stomach flipping and heart in his throat.

“Well,” Kurapika said. “I’m off to the precinct.”

“Of course,” Leorio said. He grinned again, slow and wide and a bit crooked. “Good luck with Sergeant Pupper.”

Kurapika smiled back. “Good luck with your vaccine drive.”

And he _booked_ it, because he could see the world going pink and hazy at the edges and he _could not_ have Leorio any more involved with him than he was. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he stalked the two blocks to the precinct. When was the last time his irises went red for any reason aside from bone-chilling, blood-curdling _rage?_ Kurapika had almost forgotten he could feel anything else. Something that wasn’t anger, grief, depression, exhaustion.

Not whatever he felt talking to that fucking doctor for maybe five minutes a few days a week. Not...happiness. Not excitement. Not laughter. Not peace.

Leorio Paladiknight was _peace,_ his very presence a salve to Kurapika’s ugly, scarred soul, and he found himself fearing and rejecting it and _yearning_ for it in equal measure.

Which was why Kurapika was frankly relieved to be reminded of his lot in life when he found Detectives Morel and Mizai’s office on the fifth floor of the local police department. Their shared office was a closed-off corner thing, computer screens glowing along one wall, a massive whiteboard and corkboard on another, and papers covering every available surface. The place smelled of coffee and dog, and Sergeant Pupper perked her head up when Mizai let Kurapika in.

“Always a pleasure,” Morel said, smirking cheekily as he held the door and ushered Kurapika through. Kurapika smirked as he went to the only visitor’s chair in the room, a rickety, hard-backed thing with a threadbare pillow thrown over the seat.

“Likewise,” Kurapika greeted. He nodded to Mizai. “A black coffee for you, and a macchiato for Detective Morel.”

“I’ve told you, just call me Morel,” the man protested, accepting the cup and reaching for the breakfast sandwiches with a _gimme, gimme_ motion of his fingers. Kurapika rolled his eyes and bit back a laugh as he handed them over. Morel tore open a package and sighed gratefully as he bit into it, relaxing his bulk into his chair. “We’ve known each other long enough.”

Kurapika smiled distantly, sipping his coffee. He felt a warm weight on his knee; looking down, he met the big, pleading eyes of Sergeant Pupper. She whined softly up at Kurapika, her tail wagging over the tile floor.

“No,” Kurapika admonished her gently. “This is cheese and sausage. It will upset your stomach. You will be gassy. We will all die from your dog gas. No breakfast sandwiches.”

Sergeant Pupper’s only reply to Kurapika’s rational argument was to whine again and lay a heavy paw on Kurapika’s thigh. Gold dog hair was already catching over the black material of his dress slacks.

“Hey, Pup,” Morel said, sitting upright. His tone was abruptly stern. “No begging. Come here.”

He whistled once, sharply, and Sergeant Pupper immediately went to her master. She sat on her haunches, studying Morel with her bright brown eyes. Her tail wagged expectantly in expectation of treats for a job well done. Morel grumbled and broke off a tiny piece of his sandwich.

“Fine. A _little,”_ He conceded as if under duress.

Mizai shook his head at this exchange, hiding his laugh in his coffee cup. He set his mismatched gaze on Kurapika. “To what do we owe the pleasure? You don’t often drop by unannounced like this. Catch a big case?”

His tone was light, the words casual, but Kurapika knew that Mizai was much smarter than he let on. Both of these men were: older, grizzled, experienced, they had worked the Yorknew streets together longer than Kurapika had been alive. They earned their ranks and garnered the respect of the rest of the Yorknew police force. Truth be told, they both could - and _should_ \- have advanced much higher than the rank of detective years ago. The official reason why they still worked cases was because they both felt they could do more good for the people of the city serving them directly in their investigative capacities.

Unofficially, Kurapika suspected their integrity and refusal to bend the rules for anyone, regardless of how deep their pockets might be, was what really kept them from climbing higher among the force. Which was a shame, and patently ridiculous, but it also meant that Kurapika had these two to turn to when he came across information that he very much wanted to keep quiet.

“An informant has reached out to me,” Kurapika started, choosing his words carefully. “They have information on the illegal dealings of an important family in the Yorknew social, economic, and political scene.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the USB, and passed it to Mizai to plug in. “They offered a trade - information for protection.”

Morel’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. “WitSec? They think they’re that important?”

“Not for them,” Kurapika said. “For... their family.”

Morel let out a low whistle, catching Kurapika’s meaning. “Minors?”

He nodded. “Three. Two girls and a boy, I think.”

“Shit,” Morel breathed. His gooey soft center was already kicking in, it seemed. He already looked conflicted at the idea of a bunch of kids trapped in harm’s way. He ran one broad, tanned hand through shoulder-length silver hair.

Mizai, however, was unmoved. He was more like Kurapika that way: pragmatic and realistic, even if Kurapika had him beat for ruthlessness (though Mizai still did not know by how _much_ Kurapika surpassed him there). He nodded to urge Kurapika on.

“They’re offering to turn themselves in and testify if we can promise safety and security for those three.” Kurapika pointed to the USB in Mizai’s hand. “They claim that there’s a ‘sampling’ of this family’s misdeeds on that flash drive.”

“So this is a gesture of good faith,” Mizai intoned. He eyed the piece of plastic consideringly for a few moments before he shrugged. He exchanged a glance with his partner, who nodded back. Mizai sighed. “Alright, then. I guess all we can do is look and see.”

He plugged in the USB; Morel stood up to the door and dim the lights; Kurapika pulled out his pocket notebook he kept for these initial observations; Sergeant Pupper stood near the closed door like a sentinel.

“This thing is full,” Mizai observed as the file opened. “And whoever took this information scrubbed it clean of any malware or spyware that could have hacked our systems or wiped the USB as soon as it was plugged in. Either your informant is good with computers, or they know someone who is. I’m throwing it up now.”

Kurapika eyed the wall of screens as Mizai dragged the file to the large screen.

“Alright,” Mizai started. His mouse hovered above the topmost file, innocuously and ominously labelled _Rosters._ He clicked on it, and a document loaded on the screen.

“Holy _shit,”_ Morel said. He stood up and walked closer to the screens, as if not believing his eyes. Kurapika was not far behind, even if he did not make the same outburst Morel did. His eyes scanned this document. _Roster_ was indeed the right title for it - this sheet listed the names of dozens of public officials - health inspectors, business tycoons, insurance agents, legislature members, lawyers, policemen, prison guards and watch commanders. And the dollar amounts listed behind them…

“Bribes,” Kurapika breathed. He scanned names he half-recognized, filing them away.

“Is that the police chief?” Mizai asked aloud. He fingered the screen. “The mayor’s second-in-command?”

“The next one,” Kurapika said. He pointed to the next file labeled _Bank Statements._ Mizai clicked on it, and hundreds of pages of text loaded.

“We’re going to need a financial analyst to examine these,” Morel started, saying Kurapika’s thoughts aloud. “I don’t know enough, but… see there, and that logo?” He pointed to a few columns and a logo titled _Yorknew & Globe Associates._ “This is a global stock and venture capital agency.” His finger trailed over the numbers. “These records go back _decades._ Guys, I think this is proof of insider trading.”

“Please stop touching the television screens. They are not touch-sensitive.” Mizai groaned. The long, low sound reminded Kurapika of a groaning cow. “Okay. So we already have about a dozen charges already.”

He clicked over to the next file. This one was simply titled _Footage._

Kurapika’s mouth actually _did_ fall open as the videos rolled on. Each was titled with dates and locations. Each featured a different act of violence - assaults, kidnappings. The last was a shaky image, as if someone had been wearing a button camera. The person wearing the camera lifted a gun and fired.

It was not a killing shot. But the person who stepped into the frame a few moments later finished the job.

The three men were silent.

“Murder,” Morel said tonelessly. He pointed at a few videos. “I recognize some of these faces and dates. They’re all missing, or they turned up deceased a few days or weeks after they were last seen. Some still haven't been found. We’ll need to cross-check our records and do some facial scans to be sure, but…”

Kurapika swallowed. He was silent. The last video - the only one that blatantly showed a murder on tape - featured a pale, shaking hand holding the gun. A hand that wore a silver ring on its pinky. The same ring that Kurapika had watched a terrified young man twisting round and round his finger across a restaurant table.

_This,_ Kurapika realized, feeling sick. _This is why he needed to leave._

“The last file,” he said. He pointed to a folder titled _Emails._ “Open this one.”

Mizai was already moving his mouse. There was a terrible, tense hush in the room as nearly a thousand emails going back years loaded up on the screen. Kurapika scanned names - there were many that he knew, but many more he did not. Some he recognized from his other work. Some Bloody Chain had already taken care of. Some were a surprise.

But it was one email chain near the middle that made Kurapika’s back go rigid in front of all these computer screens. His eyes blew wide, red flickering in the outer edges of his irises as he gaped at the screen.

_I am sure we can come to an agreement, Commissioner. Please follow the same protocol as established. I will see you soon._

_It is, as always, a pleasure doing business with you._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Chrollo Lucifer_

Morel swore under his breath. The sound cut through the heartbeat raging in Kurapika’s ears. “This even goes to the DA.” He glanced at Kurapika. “Did you -?”

_“No,”_ Kurapika snarled, loud enough and cruel enough Sergeant Pupper whined softly. His hands clenched into fists, and he yearned for the familiar weight of his chains.

Because how _dare_ Morel ask him that? How dare _Chrollo_ send such a brazen email? How fucking _stupid_ was Kurapika, not knowing or seeing that his boss he was trying to take down had been cutting deals and taking bribes from the Zoldycks for _years?_

_Stupid,_ Kurapika berated himself. _You stupid, blind fool, how could you miss this, it was right in front of you, Chrollo has been doing this right in front of you for years -_

“Kurapika,” Mizai said. Kurapika whirled around to glare at the older detective, who only looked back at him steadily. The glow of the lights caught on his black leather jacket, his starched white dress shirt, his dark birthmark over his left eye. “This information all ties back to Commissioner Zoldyck. Are you telling me that someone within the Zoldyck camp is ready to come forward about their dealings? We’ve been trying to catch them at something for at least two decades now.”

Kurapika breathed in, held it, exhaled. He had a part to play. He was a district attorney trying to start an investigation. And as part of that role, Kurapika needed to focus on the Zoldyck family. Not his irredeemable bastard boss.

He asked, “Will this be enough to open an investigation?”

“An investigation?” Morel laughed roughly, the sound leeched of mirth. “This is enough to put the family away for life. You say there’s more?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said. “Provided you can offer protection for my informant’s siblings.”

Mizai nodded. “We’ll do our best, start making some calls. Who is this informant? A staffer?”

Kurapika hesitated. Part of him was loath to share Killua’s participation, but another part of him knew that if the younger man was really willing to testify, consequences be damned, then soon a lot more people were going to know of his involvement than just Kurapika. And maybe if Mizai and Morel knew how close this information was to the source, they would be that much quicker to secure protection for the younger siblings and start their official, full-scale investigation.

And - and Kurapika could not get the image of Killua's hunched-over body and haunted glare from the restaurant out of his head. The way his gaze constantly roamed in search of danger. He could not stop picturing the grainy footage of his shaking hand on a trigger.

“My informant is Killua Zoldyck,” Kurapika said tonelessly. “He is willing to testify provided we can keep his younger sisters and brother safe.”

Morel’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Well,” he said. “I think that’s a reasonable bargain to make. Though, of course, we’ll need at least an assistant direct attorney to sign-off on the witness protection stuff and to start the investigation.”

Kurapika shot Morel with a glare. “Yes, of course. I’ll sign it while I’m here. If the DA is implicated as well, you can’t exactly fax it to Melody.”

“I’m confused,” Mizai announced. He frowned at Kurapika. “And it’s not that I don’t believe you, or this, or...or Killua _fucking_ Zoldyck, wow. And I thought I’d seen everything.” He sighed, typing something on his keyboard as if he was looking something else up. “But I didn’t think - something else is wrong, too.”

“Get to the point, Mizai,” Morel said.

“The Zoldycks don’t have any daughters,” Mizai said. “I just looked it up to be sure. Officially, they have six sons.”

“But Killua said -” Kurapika started, only to stop abruptly in the middle of his sentence. Mizai caught his eye and nodded, indicating they were on the same wavelength. “Ah. I see.”

_I see,_ Kurapika said, as if there wasn’t suddenly a white-hot rage burning in his stomach. As if there wasn’t something fierce and protective and empathetic clawing at his insides and up his throat.

Kurapika wanted to yell. He wanted to break something. He wanted to storm down to Commissioner Zoldyck’s office, either as Bloody Chain the vigilante or Kurapika the lawyer, and break his nose. He wanted to whisk these kids far away from anyone who would hurt them, isolate them, manipulate them, deny them their humanity.

Force them to draw a gun and shoot.

“Get me the paperwork,” Kurapika said coldly. “We are starting this investigation _now.”_

~

Contrary to popular belief, Kurapika was a man with many fears. He _was_ human, after all. And like most humans he feared a whole host of things: death, pain, the darkness of out-of-the-way alleys, loneliness. Just because Kurapika looked those fears in the eye every day and decided they were worth the risk of taking his revenge did not mean that he was immune to them altogether. It was the ultimate fear of failure that spurred him on, that incited him to push further, dig deeper, fight harder.

But one fear that Kurapika was not sure how to contend with was the very real fear that one day caffeine would no longer work for him.

Kurapika had not left the precinct until nearly two o’clock that day, coordinating with Mizai and Morel about the bare-bones plans for the case and putting in calls to Witness Protection. They hit a snag when it came to the struggle of getting Killua out of the house and away from his family for the duration of the investigation without arousing suspicion, and then Killua exacerbated things _further_ when he demanded that he wouldn’t “tell those fucking pigs a goddamn thing” until his younger siblings were safely in protective custody.

When Kurapika relayed these updates, he was not surprised to hear the collective groan that the detectives gave at this new hurdle in their path. He _was,_ however, surprised to hear Morel snicker and see Mizai smile tiredly into his coffee cup.

“Spirited kid!” Morel had said cheerfully. “We’ll get on like a house on fire.”

“I’m the year of the cow, actually,” Mizai murmured, and then the two got back to work. He examined the stack of paperwork Kurapika had just finished, skimming to make sure that the detectives had all of the permissions and support they needed to get started. He nodded in approval. “This should be enough for now. We’re going to need to put in some calls and find the kids a safe house. I’ll let you know when we get any updates.”

“Excellent,” Kurapika said. He stood up and brushed Sergeant Pupper’s dog hair from his thighs. “I should be heading back to the courthouse. Take care, gentlemen. Be discreet.”

Mizai shot Kurapika a droll look, half-amused and half-exasperated. Kurapika waited until he was in the elevator to smirk - Mizai may have been playfully insulted at him telling him to be discreet because prosecutors were always so dramatic, but he would have been even more appalled if he knew of Kurapika’s second job.

There was little discreet about chaining up a corrupt prison warden or a money-laundering military tech manufacturer and airing their dirty laundry to stink up the streets.

The rest of Kurapika’s official workday was spent holed up in his office with Melody, reviewing briefs and case notes and memos. Kurapika’s feet were hurting from standing at his massive whiteboard, drafting arguments and citing cases for his arguments. He sipped his third cup of coffee even though it had gone stale and cold. When Melody shot him that look of hers, he sighed and relented and ate a granola bar. When she added her folded arms over her chest and tilted her head just _so,_ the devastating combination was enough to make Kurapika actually sit down and drink a bottle of water and buy something from the deli across the street.

Unfortunately, because Kurapika had spent so much of his morning with the detectives, he was horribly behind. He bid Melody a good evening around six, barely looking away from the lawyer nest he had created of papers and assorted case books. The streets outside grew busy in the mass exodus of people leaving work to rush home, and still Kurapika worked. They slowly emptied out again, and still Kurapika worked. The lamplights flickered on, creating a Pollock painting of light and dark splotches on the street below, and still Kurapika worked.

His caffeine buzz petered down, and at last, Kurapika sat up. He grimaced as his eyes took several moments to focus on anything a foot past his face and his shoulders, neck, and back popped. There was a dull, throbbing pain starting above his right eye that foreshadowed a coming migraine, and Kurapika rubbed at his temple with a grimace.

_You work too much,_ Melody had said to him once, her face kind and eyes hard in a way that showed she was talking about more than just his duties as ADA. _You take on too much and spread yourself too thin. Please, Kurapika, take a break._

_No break I take would be particularly relaxing,_ Kurapika had replied coolly. _What happens to the families who are hurt because I don’t take out the corrupt landlord who covers up the mold infestation? The factory owner who skirts union regulations? The agent who denies the life-saving insurance claim?_

But Melody had only eyed him back with that steady, steady gaze of hers and asked, _And what about all of the others who will be hurt because you were too tired and burned out and got yourself killed?_

Melody was not one for pulling her punches. Kurapika respected her for that. He respected her all the more because she didn’t with even him.

Kurapika knew, logically, that Melody had a point. The work Kurapika did was unsustainable. He could not pull twelve-hour days as assistant district attorney and ten-hour nights as a vigilante. He was going to burn out, get sloppy, and get himself killed. Or worse - get sloppy, and get himself _caught._

Kurapika could not take down Chrollo from behind bars. Chrollo would bury him, send him to jail for life and throw away the key.

Then he remembered Chrollo’s affiliations with the Zoldycks, and Kurapika knew that Chrollo could also just make him disappear.

And yet. And _yet._ Kurapika did not know how to live with himself if he did not contribute every waking minute of every day of his _life_ to taking down Chrollo and his cronies. He would make them pay for what they did to Kurapika’s family. For what they _failed_ to do.

Kurapika glanced at his watch with a sigh. It was past nine o’clock. He would need to take a break and step back eventually. But tonight was not that night.

Kurapika locked his office and went home to change.

~

Yorknew’s streets were not a place one wanted to find themselves alone after dark. Streetlights lit the cracked sidewalks and pothole-filled roads in shades of bright orange and sickly, pale yellow. It was the time that the seedier members of society felt bold enough to take their business outside - the harder drug dealers, the petty criminals. Sex workers made their rounds in groups of twos and threes, keeping an eye out for each other as much as they did for their johns. Music echoed from windows and window AC units hummed. Occasionally, a lonely plane or helicopter would whir overhead, or police sirens would sound.

Still. After all of his time spent prowling the streets, Kurapika found there was a kind of peace to be found at night. When the sound died down and the world was at last calm and quiet and still. When the breeze blew away the odors of car exhaust, garbage, and the bay and the air smelled only of salt.

Perhaps _found_ was not the right word. No, Kurapika built peace between the sporadic appearances of all things that went bump in the night. He carved it out of a city that would not offer it otherwise, even if Kurapika broke that calm with the rage of his heart or the pounding of his fists.

But tonight, at least, Kurapika was not hunting a particular target. He had made the executive decision that all of his other investigations were on hold while he chased down the leads Mizai and Morel dug up. Yet he needed to wait on even _that_ \- he knew that if Bloody Chain started encroaching on Zoldyck affairs, the family would lock itself down into a metaphorical airtight bunker (or perhaps literal - they had a _lot_ of money), and the window of opportunity Killua had opened at his own risk would be shattered.

Kurapika was stubborn, headstrong, and driven to the point of manic obsession, but he was not so selfish as to hurt these kids’ chances at escape.

Kurapika pictured the video stream again. He remembered the way Killua’s hand shook on the gun - shook to pull the trigger, but held it as if it were a natural extension of his being. Either Killua was a natural with guns - which, to be honest, Kurapika could believe - or he had been ordered to do similar things before. Finding the answer to that would have to wait until their exact deal and terms were worked out.

Which, _again,_ Kurapika mused, clenching his jaw, he had to wait on the detectives for. He was not a patient man.

So here Kurapika was, prowling over rooftops and eyeing the streets below. The night was still young. He did not anticipate any antics, shenanigans, or bullshit until at least midnight. _Nothing_ good ever happened after midnight.

The odd thing about Kurapika finding little moments of crime to interrupt was that there was never any kind of introduction or warning. Which felt obvious upon further reflection. No one walked around the streets announcing, _I am planning to commit a crime!_ No, Kurapika simply wandered areas where he knew Bad Things would likely happen and waited for trouble to come.

But never had Kurapika expected what he found when he heard the scuffle a building or so over: the scuffing of shoes on pavement, the sounds of raised voices, the grunt of a man being punched.

Kurapika immediately sprung into action, picking up his pace to leap across an alleyway to the adjacent roof. He used the advantage of height and secrecy to take in the scene before him: three men, two of whom were standing on either side of the third. The third had his hands held up, a familiar-looking, black-and-red briefcase in one. The sickly light of the streetlamp above them caught on the spikes of his hard hair, the rims of his glasses.

Kurapika felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Under his dust mask, his lips mouthed, _Leorio._

What was he _doing_ out here this late? He was supposed to be home safe, studying or reading or nursing sick kittens back to health or whatever it was Good People Did. He was not supposed to be in danger. He was not supposed to in any way intersect with Kurapika’s second life.

But there he was, across the street, his hands above his head and a placating smile on his face even as his right cheek started to swell. He spoke and Kurapika heard from his perch, “C’mon, gentlemen, I’m just a clinic doctor. I’m still paying off my student loans. If I had anything to give you, I would. Why don’t you come on down to the clinic tomorrow? We’ve got some job fair ads and postings that you could check out -”

“We don’t need any of that shit,” one of the men hissed. “We're not interested in your charity. Just give us the briefcase and we’ll be fine.”

“Can’t do that,” Leorio said baldly. “So it looks like we’re at an impasse. Why don’t we just part ways here, you frustrated, me a bit shaken but none the worse, and call it a night? I won’t even call the police.”

_“Fuck_ the police,” the second man swore. His voice was higher, a bit more reedy. “If they did their damn jobs we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“Right on,” Leorio said, nodding. “Stick it to the man.” Then his expression softened. “That sounds really difficult. I’m sorry that you feel you have to do this.”

The second man opened his mouth to reply, but the first shouted over him, “Man, fuck this! We’re not here for a damn therapy session, we’re here for some _money._ Give us the _goddamn briefcase,_ you stupid son of a bitch -”

He lunged. Kurapika swore, his blood running cold. He had spent too long sitting back and watching, not leaping into action, and now his entire being shuddered in horror at the realization that he would not make it to Leorio in time.

Then there was a grunt, a shout - but it was not Leorio. Kurapika watched in awe as Leorio swung the briefcase in his hand and smashed it against the first man’s outstretched arm. The man stumbled, caught off-balance and careering past Leorio harmlessly. The second man overcame his hesitation and tried to jump Leorio as well. Leorio caught him on his backswing, knocking the second man back by hitting the corner of his hard-edged briefcase. The second man tripped and crumbled to the ground, his hands to his head. Kurapika could see blood pooling between his fingers like a garish red fountain.

The first man regained his bearings. Snarling, he pulled a pocket knife from his jacket. “I’m gonna slice your neck, doc.”

Leorio did not cower. He barely even hesitated. Instead he grinned, slow and wide and a bit dangerous. It highlighted his chipped tooth, the previous breaks in his nose. It made Kurapika’s stomach flip in a completely mistimed and inappropriate somersault. He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled something out.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kiddo,” Leorio said. He flicked the switchblade into action. Kurapika heard the _click_ of the blade snapping into place. “I’ve been fighting in these streets longer than you’ve been alive. We know how this will go. And it won’t look good for you.”

The first man at last looked hesitant. His blade arm dropped a fraction of an inch.

Leorio jerked his head down the deserted street. “Beat it, kid.”

Another beat. Then the first man turned heel and sprinted, his feet pounding pavement like his legs couldn’t carry him fast enough. His footsteps faded into echoes as he left Leorio and his friend behind.

Kurapika watched as Leorio took a long breath. Then he squatted down onto his haunches across from the young man who still had his hands over his face. Leorio hissed air through his teeth, a sympathetic gesture.

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark. C’mon, kid, move your hands, let me see the damage.”

The man lowered his hands. Blood trickled from a cut just above his temple, streaking down his face and dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

Leorio opened his briefcase. From his distance, all Kurapika could see was an assortment of white packages and boxes, everything neatly labeled and secured in place.

A first-aid kit, Kurapika realized. Of course Leorio brought his work home with him. There was something burning and expanding behind his breastbone that he did not want to examine.

He watched as Leorio sanitized and gloved his hands, sitting cross-legged on a dirty sidewalk in his dress pants. He expertly staunched the bleeding and cleaned and bandaged the cut. The two men were still speaking, but now their voices were low enough that Kurapika could not hear them from his vantage point.

Kurapika knew he should leave. He needed to carry on with his patrol. There would be people hurt, who did not have Leorio’s fighting experience and spunk (and wow that had been a sight to see), if Kurapika did not move his feet and get far away from here. But he could only sit in the dark and watch how the light shone on the curve of Leorio’s jaw, the steadiness of his gaze, the gentle and practiced movements of his hands. He worked with a focus that Kurapika had never seen or experienced himself outside of a courtroom. Leorio was brilliant, Kurapika suddenly knew with every fiber of his being. Brilliant enough to research and be a surgeon and lead a hospital, and still he chose to work at this free clinic and help the people who needed it most.

That burning feeling in Kurapika’s chest was creeping up his throat, and he found he could not breathe around it. He wondered what it would feel like to have all of Leorio’s focus turned on him like that.

At last Leorio stood up and helped the other man to his feet. Leorio waved, said something along the lines of “see you tomorrow,” which should have been insane but of _course_ Leorio would follow up with his mugger-turned-patient. He turned to leave, walking down the street with his briefcase loosely clenched in his fist like the past ten minutes hadn’t even happened.

Kurapika shouldn’t have moved. He should not have slid down the fire escape, moved to stand at the mouth of the black alleyway like the dramatic asshole he was. He should not have spoken.

But Kurapika stepped from the shadows, heart in his throat and probably hearts in his fucking eyes, and he said, “That was a good thing you did.”

Leorio _jumped._ Like a six-four, ungainly cat, long limbs flailing. _“Goddamn motherfucking shit -”_ He cut off his tirade, frozen in the perfect circle of light the lamp cast over the street. He stood illuminated in a sphere of light while Kurapika stood across the way under a broken street lamp, glass on the ground beneath his steel-toed boots.

It was a pretty heavy-handed metaphor.

Leorio tilted his head, meeting Kurapika’s gaze. Except he _wasn’t,_ and Kurapika needed to remember that. Leorio was looking at Bloody Chain, vigilante. He was looking at Kurapika and seeing his lithe form covered in bulky, loose clothing, hood over his head hiding fair blond hair, red mask over his mouth and nose, dark contacts that turned his gray eyes a shade of muddy brown-black. The most identifiable thing about him was his height, which was perfectly average.

“So you are real,” Leorio observed. Kurapika felt his gaze sweep over him, and he tried to squash the traitorous way his entire body warmed in reaction.

“Did you doubt?” Kurapika asked. He walked across the street. His boots crunched on glass and stray leaves. His chains rattled. He looked like something out of a nightmare. Leorio did not look away.

“Doubt’s too strong a word,” He said casually. He shrugged a shoulder. “Always thought vigilantes and all that were saved for comic books.” Leorio grinned down at Kurapika. “My patients are fans of yours.”

Kurapika scoffed out a laugh. His mask obscured his smile, but he knew Leorio sensed it anyway. For a few moments silence hung between them, awkward and yet somehow companionable.

And _heavy._ There was no one else around to see them, no morning rush of work to dash to, no sunny-smiled barista to call their names and interrupt. It terrified and thrilled Kurapika to the core.

“How much did you see?” Leorio asked. At Kurapika’s questioning brow raise, he amended, “Of that fight.”

“Most of it,” Kurapika said honestly. “You handled yourself well.”

Leorio laughed softly, his grin crooked. “I was born here, Chain. I’ve seen worse than a couple scared, desperate kids trying to mug someone dumb enough to be out this late.” His voice dropped, going quiet and thoughtful. His eyes were a million miles away when he added, like he was confessing something, “I’ve _done_ worse.”

Kurapika thought about that. He had never pictured Leorio as someone who would know his way around a knife just as much as he did with a suture kit, let alone as someone who was capable of holding someone up and demanding their belongings. But Kurapika also knew that sometimes scared, desperate people did things they otherwise might not have done, had life been just a little kinder.

Kurapika knew that sometimes hurting, vengeful people did things they might not have otherwise done, too, when they never processed their grief past anger.

“I was born here, too,” Kurapika found himself admitting out loud. He had not intended to share that, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“Oh, yeah?” Leorio asked. “Where?”

“Uptown,” Kurapika said vaguely. “Textile district.”

“The one with all the fancy artisan shops?”

Kurapika swallowed. For a moment he was back there - his childhood home warm and open, light streaming through the window. Incense burning in the corner. His mother at her loom or her embroidery, fashioning art that would never been seen in a museum but that was twice as beautiful. Kurapika still had some of her formal Kurta garb stored in a box somewhere. He was terrified to open it, still, after all these years. He wasn't sure what would come out - of the box or out of his chest - if he opened that Pandora's Box.

“Yes.”

Leorio, to his surprise, let out a snort. “Townie.”

“Where are _you_ from?” Kurapika demanded, startled into childish bickering. His face flushed from the question.

“Dockside district,” Leorio said. For several seconds he went quiet. He looked like he, too, was seeing another place from another time. Nostalgic. Mourning.

So Kurapika said, “Salt-hair.”

“Fuck off,” Leorio replied immediately, but he was startled into laughter as he said it, so Kurapika knew the insult was only skin-deep.

There were so many more things Kurapika wanted to ask - _had_ wanted to ask, but now they were piling up. He wanted to know how Leorio was raised, about his family, why he became a doctor, if he still had family living, where he went to school, if he had pets, what he had done in the past that was worse than mugging a stranger. Kurapika wanted to know _everything_ about Leorio, not the least of which was to ask if it was possible he felt this strange, magnetic connection, too.

But Kurapika knew the answer to that already. And even if he didn’t, he knew that allowing Leorio any further into his life would only endanger the doctor further.

So Kurapika stepped back. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he said formally. “I should be leaving. Good-bye.”

He took another step back. Another. He made himself turn. He readied himself to jump to a fire escape, to climb his way back to colder air and a colder life and one where he could pretend Leorio was still only The Handsome Doctor from the coffee shop.

And then -

“Wait!”

Kurapika should have kept running. He had ice in his heart and chains in his hands and he had a job to do. But Kurapika had never truly been able to turn his back when he was needed, and he was also a weak, weak man when it came to Dr. Leorio Paladiknight, so he stopped short and spun on his heel and tried to look graceful and poised and not like he was kind of, a little falling in love with this man.

_Fuck. Wait. Am I…?_

_Fuck._

“Yes?” Kurapika asked, his tone mercifully even. Leorio was digging into his wallet for something. For a half-second Kurapika feared it would be money, that Leorio was attempting to pay him or donate to some kind of community “support Bloody Chain” fund. But it was actually worse: Leorio only pulled out a plain white card. He uncapped a pen with his teeth and held it as he scribbled something onto the back of it using the broad palm of his hand as a desk.

“Here, take this,” Leorio said. “My business card and cell phone number.”

Kurapika blinked. He was immensely grateful for his contacts as he said, “I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m -”

“A vigilante, all the elites hate you, interacting with you is a risk, blah blah blah, I know,” Leorio said, flapping his hand dismissively. He marched out of the halo of the streetlight to stand right in front of Kurapika. “But with all the fighting and whatever the hell you do, you’re going to get hurt. And when that happens, I bet you won’t be able to go to a hospital, will you? Especially in that hideous getup.”

Kurapika’s mouth opened to retort. _“Excuse_ you -”

Leorio spoke over him. “I’m a doctor. A _damn_ good one. I know how to keep my mouth shut. Your efforts do a lot of good for my community. You give my patients _hope._ Take this, and call me if you’re ever injured.”

Leorio practically stuffed the card into Kurapika’s hands. His fingers reflexively curled over the paper. He stared down at the blue lettering, eyes tracing the clinic logo, the _Leorio Paladiknight, MD_ label. He flipped the card over and read the cell phone number written in a spiked, messy scrawl.

_This is a bad idea,_ Kurapika should have said. _I can’t accept this, he wanted to say. I don’t want you to be hurt. This will throw you in danger. This can throw your clinic in danger. I don't want to bring you down with me._

But Kurapika only looked up at Leorio, studying the shadows as they flickered over his face. They were close enough Kurapika could see his breath curling in the chill air.

“Do I give you hope, Leorio?”

The question was too intense for a first meeting. If Kurapika had been thinking of anything more than the importance of Leorio’s answer. But Leorio only shrugged, a smile on his face. “I think you do, Chain.”

It was an assurance and a crushing reminder of their real positions all in one. The warmth Kurapika felt hearing Leorio trusted his alter ego to do good offset by the reality that he was also Bloody Chain, vigilante, and every interaction he had with Leorio would only draw the man closer into danger. It was like being doused in cold water, as shocking as it was needed.

So Kurapika curled the white paper in his hand. He stepped back into the shadows.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I will…”

_I will try to believe you._

_I will try to live up to that hope._

_I will not fail you._

He smiled even though Leorio could not see it. “Goodnight.”

Kurapika swung his way up the fire escape, and he did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! as always, please drop a kudos/comment/subscribe for updates!!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com. please feel free to reach out!!!


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter the siblings zoldyck.
> 
> CW for implied/referenced child abuse, transphobia, trauma, referenced gaslighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi some quick notes!  
> alluka/nanika: she/hers pronouns  
> kalluto: they/them pronouns

## 

part 3.

It took longer than Kurapika was strictly thrilled with - meaning any longer than a day, really - but Morel and Mizai found the Zoldycks a safe house.

According to Mizai, once the safe house was actually selected and the round-the-clock security detail confirmed, things fell into place easily. Killua Zoldyck apparently struck some kind of deal with his parents that made them more amenable to the idea of him living on his own, and the siblings living with him had been part of that.

 _“I’ll explain in person,”_ Killua told Kurapika on the phone. He sounded frustrated, stressed, exhausted, annoyed. _“We’re getting settled, and we need to make sure the security here will be up to par. Talk to you tonight.”_

“I was under the impression that Detectives Mizai and Morel, as well as your protection detail, were seeing to your security,” Kurapika replied. Killua snorted into the phone so loudly Kurapika winced.

 _“Yeah, okay,”_ Killua retorted sarcastically. _“I’ll just trust the safety of the most important people in my life to a bunch of strangers.”_ He went silent for a few moments before adding, his voice like cold, unsheathed steel, _“My father taught me one thing I actually give a damn about. You want to make sure something is done right? You get it done by people you trust. And I may have an agreement with you, Assistant District Attorney Kurapika, but I don’t trust you. Not yet.”_

Kurapika was only silent as he listened to this tirade. He didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed at a teenager ten years his junior lambasting him for not having earned his trust. How many people did Kurapika even trust, _really?_ Two? Two and a half, if he counted Leorio, whom he shouldn’t?

Were their roles reversed, Kurapika was positive he would be exactly as pleasant and trusting as Killua was. This kid had lived a hellish life, and now he was putting everything he cared about - the safety of his three younger siblings - in the hands of virtual strangers. Strangers who may, when all is said and done, still arrest him and throw away the key if they wanted. That loss of agency and control had to be terrifying to a teenager trapped between a rock and a hard place.

So Kurapika only said, “Then I will endeavor to earn that trust. What time shall I meet you tonight?”

There was a pause, almost as if Killua had anticipated a very different response and was now rapidly adjusting his opinion of Kurapika. Eventually, he said, _“Eight o’clock. Are the detectives coming?”_

“Do you want them to?” Kurapika asked.

 _“Sure, whatever,”_ Killua replied like he didn’t care one way or the other. _“The girls like the dog.”_

Kurapika bit back a smile. “I’ll see if they’re available.”

He hung up. When he called Mizai to confirm their meeting, he did not bother asking if they were available. Even if they weren’t, he knew that those two would drop everything for this case and those kids.

So at precisely eight o’clock that night, Kurapika stood on the front stoop of the Zoldyck safehouse and rang the doorbell. This house was a surprisingly welcome-looking, perfectly average home almost exactly in the middle of this neighborhood street. Its light blue paint matched the colorful fronts of the rest of the houses. Kurapika adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder, feeling oddly out of place in his casual clothes - he hadn’t wanted to intimidate the younger kids by showing up in his courtroom clothes, and there was no way Bloody Chain could show up here, so tonight he was just. Kurapika. Kurapika, dressed down in dark jeans and a button-up and a sweater, looking less like a lawyer and more like a harried, exhausted grad student.

He knocked on the door. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a few locks unlatching. Kurapika counted three before the white door opened a few inches. Through the crack, Kurapika met the gaze of a dark-skinned woman with round, dark eyes and full lips. Her natural hair was loose and tied back with a bright blue silk scarf.

Kurapika smiled. “Hello again, Canary.”

The lone eye glaring at Kurapika instantly brightened. “Kurapika!”

The door shut, and he heard the familiar rattle of the chain unlatching. A few moments later the door opened wide enough for Kurapika to step through, coming face-to-face with a beaming Canary.

“It’s been a while,” Kurapika greeted warmly. “Security detail? Congratulations.”

“Thanks!” Canary said cheerfully. Her bright smile was offset by the tell-tale click as she latched the safety of her gun. She jerked her head further into the home. “C’mon.”

She waited for Kurapika to remove his shoes and led him into a spacious living room. The open floor plan offered two advantages: one, it made these guards’ job easier with fewer walls between their eyes and their charges, and two, it made the safe house actually feel a little like a home. From his vantage point Kurapika could see a furnished living room and a well-lit, modern kitchen. A familiar-looking woman with pale skin, dark hair, and almond-shaped blue eyes that matched the exact shade of Canary’s head wrap sat at the table, pouring over some files.

She looked up and sent Kurapika a small grin. “ADA Kurapika. Good to see you again.”

“And you, Amane,” he greeted as he crossed the living room. “It’s been a while.”

Canary and her partner (in more ways than one), Amane, were two sharp-eyed and sharper-minded up-and-coming officers that had served as witnesses on the bench in some of Kurapika’s cases. They had the skills to be excellent detectives one day, Kurapika was positive. The only things they each needed was time and experience. This case was a welcome opportunity for both women to get their feet wet with more serious work than simple robberies and B&Es.

“Where are the Zoldycks?” Kurapika asked. He took a seat across from Amane and dug into his messenger bag for his legal pad. There was little room on the table to put his things, and Kurapika did not want to move anything lest he ruin whatever organization system Amane had going on, so he simply crossed one leg over the other and set his pad on his knee.

Amane opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, there was a banging sound from two floors up. With a smirk, she simply used her pen to point at the ceiling. Kurapika heard voices echoing -

“You’re a dirty, rotten cheater, Killua, I _hate_ you and you’re _dead_ to me -”

“I’m not a _cheater,_ and it’s just a game, _chill -”_

“Tell me to chill _one more time_ and I will shave your head in the middle of the night.”

“You wouldn’t _dare._ And you couldn’t anyway, you stomp around like an elephant, I’d wake up right away and then I’d shave _you_ bald - _ouch!”_

“That’s what you get for being mean to Allie.”

“Thanks, Nani. And I’d get Kalluto to do it.”

“Why do _I_ need to get involved?”

The bickering went on. Kurapika raised an eyebrow at the two bodyguards. Canary bit back a smile as she went to the coffee pot on the counter.

 _“Mario Party,”_ she explained, as if Kurapika’d had anything resembling a childhood and knew what that meant. “They’ve been at it for a couple hours, so the game should be done soon. I’ll call them down once Morel gets here.”

“Is Mizai coming?” Amane asked, not looking up from her files. She barely reacted when Canary set down a fresh cup of coffee in front of her, though she did go a little pink on her cheeks when Canary added a smooch to the top of her head.

“Last-minute murder came up,” Canary said conversationally, as if Mizai was late because of traffic or errands. “Since this case is confidential it would have been suspicious had neither of them showed up. Morel’s excuse for not showing up is dog problems.”

“Clever,” Kurapika said. That coffee smelled delicious, much better than anything he made for himself or the office had to offer. “Can I get some of that?”

“Knock yourself out,” Canary said, gesturing the hand that held her mug toward the counter while the other was on Amane’s back. Kurapika went to the counter and poured himself a cup just as the doorbell rang. Amane and Canary sent each other significant looks as Canary made for the door, drawing her gun out of her waistband at the small of her back. To the outside observer, Amane looked as placid as ever, but Kurapika saw Amane’s free hand reach for a pistol secured under the table. Kurapika’s hands clenched tighter around his cup of coffee, ready to throw the projectile if need be.

But he needn't have worried: a few moments later, Canary unlatched the deadbolts and allowed Morel inside. The big man was carrying three boxes of pizza and had a grocery bag hanging off of one arm. He beamed at Kurapika as he strolled over and set the boxes on the counter. In the background, Kurapika heard the clatter of Sergeant Pupper’s nails on the hardwood floors as she made her way to the staircase. A few moments later there was a general cacophony of excited voices.

“Pizza and...ice cream?” Kurapika observed. He lifted an eyebrow as Morel put three quarts of ice cream into the freezer. “This is an official meeting, not a slumber party.”

“For you, maybe,” Morel said. He looked down at Kurapika, his gray eyes wise behind his little sunglasses. “But for these kids, this is their first night in a truly safe place in a long, long time. To them, this is a goddamn celebration. I’m going to treat it as such.”

Oh. Of course. Kurapika had nearly forgotten that, in the rush of planning and investigating, their entire deal and operation hinged upon keeping these kids safe (and he very much included Killua in that category, legal age be damned). It was just much easier for Kurapika to focus and examine everything from a bird’s-eye perspective when he did not entangle himself with the messy, emotional aspect to this.

But it looked like there would be no escape from that as there was a sudden pounding on the stairs of several pairs of feet bounding towards them. Kurapika turned, staring across the living room to the trio on the staircase, all stock-still on their own step and standing behind Killua, who stood protectively in front of his siblings with his shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets.

Sergeant Pupper wove between them and nosed at Kurapika’s hip, ducking her head and pressing her forehead into his hand to encourage pets. He ran his hand over the dog’s soft hair, scratching her behind the ears where she preferred. His eyes roamed over the three kids.

Behind Killua was a set of twins, their long hair thick and dark. One wore her hair in a series of braids, the other woven with bright pink beads. One had eyes so dark they were nearly black, pupil and iris melding into one, while her twin had blue eyes the exact shape and shade as Killua’s. They both wore loose-fitting, traditional robes in bright shades of pink and green. They looked like they were maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Behind these twins was another child, their hair in a carefully-tended bob with light pink eyes. They, too, wore traditional robes, a black kimono embroidered with cherry blossoms. Kurapika would have been surprised if this child was any older than thirteen.

These three all shared Killua’s graceful, pointed features. They also shared his pinched, stressed body language and shadowed, haunted eyes. The twins stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking Kurapika’s line of sight to the youngest Zoldyck, and Killua stood with his shoulders squared in front of all three of them. He looked ready for a fight even in this safe house.

Killua’s expression thawed slightly as he stepped forward. Kurapika strode toward him as well, nodding to Killua. He had not realized it when they were both sitting down, but Killua was a few inches taller than he. It was easy to forget, though, with Killua’s terrible posture.

Killua looked down at him and his expression thawed slightly. “You really did it,” he said softly. “I... wasn’t sure you would.”

“I said I would see what I could do,” Kurapika said honestly. He peered around the room, taking in the furnishings and decorations, the presence of the two officers and detective. “I could do this. With help, of course.”

Killua nodded. He stepped back, indicating his siblings. “Guess I should introduce you to everyone.”

The girls each lay their chins on either of his shoulders, and the youngest one perched the point of their chin on Killua’s head. Killua scowled, trying to wave them off; the two girls wrapped their arms around Killua’s shoulders, effectively stopping him from using his arms. Killua looked like a grumpy, squished cat as his siblings surrounded him.

It was adorable, really.

“This is Alluka,” Killua said, jerking his head to indicate the twin with the blue eyes, “And Nanika.” A nod to the twin with the near-black eyes. He moved his arm the best he could to point to the kid resting on his head. “And this is Kalluto.”

Four sets of eyes landed on Kurapika. The back of his neck went hot and itchy from the scrutiny, and for a wild moment he desperately wished Leorio were here. He would know what to do with these kids, he was sure of it. As it was, Kurapika only nodded to them all with a sharp jerk of his chin.

“Hello,” he said. His tone was stiff and awkward. “My name is Kurapika.”

There was a long pause as the kids seemed to be waiting for Kurapika to say more. But he had exhausted his knowledge of speaking with kids, so Kurapika was silent, feeling fat-tongued and foolish. In the kitchen, he was pretty sure he heard Morel snicker like the asshole he was.

It was Alluka who broke the silence. “You’re the lawyer? Kiki told us about you.”

“Kiki?” Kurapika repeated, confused.

Killua was bright red as he ducked his chin like he could hide it in his sweater collar. “Told you _not_ to call me that in front of people,” he mumbled.

Ah. Kiki. Killua. Kurapika smiled, the lump of ice in his chest softening slightly. As if he needed more proof that Killua was a pushover for his younger siblings. He said, “I am. Your brother was very brave to reach out to me.”

Killua’s face went even redder. Alluka and Nanika suddenly pulled away from Killua and rushed toward Kurapika. Before he could react more beyond to reflexively stiffen, two sets of arms were flung around him. Kurapika let out a soft _oof_ at the contact, but he was truly more breathless than the contact merited.

He could not - he wasn’t - Kurapika could not _remember_ the last time he was hugged. He did not date, and he rarely took lovers even before he started juggling vigilantism with his day job. He studied constantly to graduate law school, college, and high school early. He spent his teen years in the foster care system, which - despite the truly wonderful and angelic people who worked in it - was overcrowded, understaffed, underfunded, and altogether _cold._

He was friends with Bisky, but she was not the affectionate type. Melody was, but she respected Kurapika’s personal space and had never offered more touch than a gentle hand to his shoulder.

Had Kurapika really not been held like this since he was a child? A lump rose in his throat. He hesitantly lifted his arms to pat each girl on the back. Pat, pat, pat. Wait, no, they were too old for those simple little gestures, weren’t they? This was absolutely terrifying. Someone please give Kurapika a murder trial to prosecute or a group of bodyguards to beat up. That was honestly preferable to the emotional landmines Kurapika was toeing on.

One of the girls - Alluka? - patted Kurapika on the back and felt the sports bra he wore in lieu of a binder, because he was an idiot but he wasn’t going to wear a full binder twenty hours a day. He saw her furrow her brow in confusion before she looked up at him, blue eyes wide and mouth almost falling open.

 _You’re like me,_ she seemed to be trying to say. _Seeking confirmation and reassurance. You’re like me?_

Kurapika nodded. _Yeah. It gets better._

Alluka exchanged a look with her sister. They exchanged some kind of twin telepathy, and Nanika’s dark eyes widened as she looked back up at Kurapika. Her big dark eyes welled up and then the two sisters were hugging him again, and Kurapika kind of wanted to die but mostly he wanted to kill whoever made these girls feel this isolated and alone and _wrong_ in their own skin.

And then there was another set of arms and a face with a pointy nose being pushed into Kurapika’s back, and a soft voice said into his sweater, “Thank you.”

 _Oh, fuck,_ Kurapika thought. He swallowed thickly. Oh, _fuck,_ these _kids._ He was compromised. Three hugs and a whispered thanks and Kurapika knew he was going to do whatever it took to keep them safe and happy and together.

For the first time, there was something that made him reconsider his trajectory straight for Chrollo’s blackened, shriveled heart.

Kurapika gently disentangled himself from the three Zoldyck kids. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and eyed Morel over his shoulder when the man snickered. “You are. Um. You’re welcome. That is, are you…?” He cleared his throat. “Are you settling in well?”

Alluka and Nanika grinned. They shared the same wide, sharp-toothed smile. Nanika said, “We are! Allie and I took the attic, Kiki and Kalluto have their own rooms, and Miss Canary and Miss Amane have another.”

“I turned the fourth into a computer room!” Alluka added proudly. At a sharp elbow jab from Kalluto, she squeaked and added, “Well, we all did. I did the most.” Another jab. Alluka tugged at Kalluto’s hair. Kalluto tugged at Alluka’s beads. They would have devolved into a sibling slap-fight right in front of Kurapika’s helpless eyes had Morel not cleared his throat significantly from the kitchen. As one, the siblings froze and stood to attention. Interestingly, so did Killua and Sergeant Pupper.

Morel held up a stack of paper plates. “I think it’s time we all ate something,” he said.

That did the trick: squabble immediately forgotten, the Zoldycks raced into the kitchen and beelined for the pizza. The scents of greasy meat and tomato sauce filled the room, and Kurapika’s stomach growled. Still, he hung back so the kids, security detail, and Morel could grab what they wanted. He allowed himself to fade into the background as the kitchen was filled with chatter, yelling, bantering, laughter.

That was, until Kurapika was snapped from his thoughts planning out his argument for a murder case he had coming up by a hand tugging at the elbow of his sweater. Kurapika startled slightly and looked down to meet Kalluto’s pink eyes. They were holding a paper plate with two slices on it.

“I wasn’t sure if you were vegetarian or not,” they said, holding the plate toward him. Kurapika smiled, accepting the plate with a quiet thanks. He took a bite while Kalluto returned to their sisters as Morel joined him, his bulk massive even in this large kitchen and dining area.

“I knew it,” Morel said with a grin. Kurapika sighed.

“Knew what, detective?” Kurapika asked. He took another bite. The pizza was slightly cooled, the cheese going rubbery, but he was a lot hungrier than he had previously thought. He wolfed down another bite.

Morel did not rise to the bait. “You’re a giant softie.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” Morel argued gleefully. “Runner-Up in the precinct’s Scariest Prosecutor pool for four years running, but Kurapika is a huge softie with kids. I knew it!”

“I’m _not,”_ Kurapika protested again, louder, before he frowned. “Wait. Runner-up?”

He thought about that for a moment. Morel rolled his eyes. As one, the two men said, _“Hisoka.”_

The rest of dinner passed in a cheerful haze. It was by far the strangest meeting that Kurapika had ever attended: the Zoldyck siblings bantering in one breath and cackling in the next; Canary and Amane watching the siblings with one eye and the doors and windows with the other; Sergeant Pupper sniffing around on the floor and nosing at the girls’ robes for pepperonis before Morel whistled once, sharply, and she went to lay her head obediently on the detective’s knee. Killua picked all the cheese off of his pizza and then almost punted Kalluto out the window when they somehow managed to squeeze half a bottle of sriracha onto the tomato sauce. Which was honestly impressive - later, Kurapika would speak with the officers and Morel and they would all agree they never even _saw_ the youngest Zoldyck with the bottle.

A food fight was only successfully avoided when Morel brought out the ice cream. Killua mutinously refused to share any of his brownie-batter-and-chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream with Kalluto (though he “pretended” not to notice when Kalluto dug their spoon in anyway). Alluka and Nanika mixed rocky road and confetti cake scoops into their own bowls, and the rest of the group simply tucked into their Neapolitan, which Killua described as an “old man flavor” that led to Morel laughing so hard he almost choked on his spoon.

Amane had cleared her files off of the table, so Kurapika was able to sit down and pull his legal pad out again. This get-together was nice and all, but he _did_ have a job to do, and a million questions to ask, and a dozen cases to prepare for. Fortunately, it seemed the junk food and safe place had placated the kids somewhat, and even Killua’s metaphorical hackles were down. He sat between Alluka and Nanika, trading light-hearted jokes and jabs with them until he looked up from the ice cream he was eating straight out of the carton and met Kurapika’s gaze.

“So,” he said, and his voice was no louder than it had been before, but something in the change of his tone and the reintroduction of the shadows in his eyes made the chatter in the room drop immediately. “You held up your end of the bargain.”

“I did,” Kurapika confirmed.

“So now I’ll hold up mine,” Killua said. He looked around at his siblings. “You three should go upstairs.”

The uproar was instantaneous:

“I think the fuck _not,”_ Alluka said immediately.

“There is no way in _hell_ we’re leaving,” Nanika added.

Kalluto didn’t say anything, but they used their spoon as a little trebuchet to fling half-melted ice cream at Killua’s face. It was an incredible attack only surpassed by the way Killua managed to catch almost all of it in his mouth. Killua bared his teeth in something like a snarl; Kalluto stuck their tongue out in a raspberry.

“We’ve talked about this,” Killua snapped. “The deal is that I testify. Not you, not us. _Me._ There’s enough I have to say and share that’s going to put mom and dad away without you needing to be brought into it, too. And you’re not going up there to have yourselves torn to shreds by the family attorneys. You _know_ how slimy and shitty they are, you _know_ they’ll dredge up everything we bury just to survive. The papers will have a field day with the things you say. Your chances for any sort of normal life or privacy after this would be destroyed. My head is already on the chopping block; there’s no need for you to volunteer.”

The younger trio exchanged looks. The adults remained silent, allowing the Zoldycks to sort out their family business. It was astounding, Kurapika thought, how much the twins could age in just a few seconds as they prepared to make their rebuttal to Killua’s claims. Kalluto’s expression remained as placid as ever, and on second thought, that was probably just as terrible.

“We knew you would say that,” Alluka said as Nanika pulled a folded-up sheet of notebook paper from her pocket. She smoothed it out on the table so all three of them could look at it. “So we made a list of arguments to explain why yours suck.”

Good _god,_ Kurapika was going to adopt these fucking kids.

“First,” Alluka started. “We understand that your deal includes _your_ testimony for _our_ protection. It does not say anything about our involvement. Which leads us to point two.

“Second, we have the right to participate in this trial if we want to. And we want to.” Alluka’s blue eyes hardened. “We want to - _I_ want to - testify to every terrible thing our parents made me do. Every terrible thing they did to Kalluto, Nani, and me.” She swallowed thickly, and Nanika put her hand over Alluka’s.

Nanika spoke. “I want to list every horrible thing our parents and brothers put us through on the stand, and I want to point at them and say, _they did this to me._ I want to say it in court and wear a sign in the street and scream from the roof. I want to tell the world every single thing that happened to us, all of the things that we missed out on, all of the kid things we should have been able to do but didn’t.” Her dark eyes went hard. “I love you, Kiki. And I know you’re trying to protect us. But you _will not_ take this away from us.”

Killua swallowed. His eyes were welling with tears. He reached across the table to take his sisters’ hands, bunching them up and clutching them in his larger palms. “I - I know,” he swallowed. “I _know,_ and I’m sorry. I don’t - I don’t do this because I don’t want you to tell your story. But those lawyers will _rip you apart._ They will turn everything around on you and make it seem like it was your fault, that you wanted to do it, that things didn’t happen the way you remember them. They’ll try to make you question everything.”

There was a note of desperation in Killua’s tone that spoke volumes. _I know they will,_ Killua was trying to say without speaking the words, _I know because they did it to me for years, and I can’t watch them do that to you, too._

For several long seconds the kitchen was silent. The only sounds were the soft humming of the refrigerator, of their breathing, of Morel loudly sniffling. Kurapika shot the man a glare that the detective returned, reaching into his chest pocket and pulling out a red-and-white handkerchief and blowing his nose loudly into it. The Zoldycks did not pay him any mind.

At last, Kalluto was the one to break the silence. “They can try,” they said tonelessly. “They’ll fail. I know what happened. I was there. And no defense attorney is going to gaslight me out of knowing what I went through.”

Killua grimaced, looking utterly defeated. He groaned loudly, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands through his hair until it stood on end in curls of static. He stared up at the lights on the ceiling with tears in his eyes. He looked miserable, exhausted. Frayed to the end of his rope.

Then, to everyone’s surprise (including his own, it seemed), Killua asked, “Kurapika? What do you think?”

Kurapika blinked. “I...I don’t think I get to decide something like this.”

Killua snorted out a laugh. “First I’ve heard that from an adult.” That line hit Kurapika right in the chest. Killua went on, “As a lawyer. Prosecutor. Whatever you are. What do you think?”

Kurapika sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Killua was right - he needed to approach this as a strategizing attorney trying to throw the slipperiest, slimiest family in the city with the meanest, nastiest defense attorneys in prison. Not as... whatever giant marshmallow he’d been turning into.

“I will say...if you all want to testify, you have the right to do so. If that’s something you think you need, for closure or healing or revenge, I will not stand in your way,” Kurapika said. “I don’t think I have the right to take that from you if you say that’s what you need. From a prosecutor’s perspective, I will never turn down more witnesses against the defendants. But it’s important that you understand everything that the trial process would entail. This would lead to a whole host of additional charges, and it would extend the trial immeasurably.” His gaze swept over the Zoldyck siblings. “We’re talking days to weeks of testimony. Defense attorneys. Hours of cross-examination. Packed courtrooms in the day, primetime news coverage at night. Paparazzi, papers, and tabloids for months. World-wide scrutiny.”

The twins exchanged uneasy looks. Kalluto’s face remained as expressionless as a mask.

“I’m not trying to pressure you one way or another,” Kurapika said softly. It was the closest to gentle his voice had ever been. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”

The Zoldyck siblings exchanged a series of looks. They had a full conversation with just the movement of their eyes, the twitch of their fingers, the curl of their lips. Finally, Killua sighed, looking defeated. He turned to Kurapika.

“Alright,” he said. He took a big scoop of half-melted ice cream from the carton and slurped it. He looked between Kurapika and Morel. “Where do we start?”

The bulk of this first meeting was deciding just that, exactly. The four Zoldycks had enough dirt and eyewitness testimony to send Silva and Kikyo Zoldyck to prison with a list of charges that made even Kurapika’s head spin. That was not even including Illumi or Milluki or the retired former Commissioner Zeno.

Nevermind the massive paper trail of bribes, hits, kickbacks, and backroom deals going back nearly fifty years. Nor the spider web of connections between the Zoldyck family and what felt like every manufacturer, industry leader, and political and legal savant in Yorknew. Kurapika eventually gave up trying to map it all out on his legal pad and decided that he would need to get a whiteboard or a roll of butcher block paper to unfurl on a wall.

“Hang on, hang on,” Morel said, interrupting a story Killua was sharing about drug deals and smuggling rings or something. They were a few crimes away from a fast-paced action movie thriller, Kurapika thought. A very campy, melodramatic one. “Something’s bugging me.”

“Just one thing?” Killua asked, sounding annoyed with the interruption. Morel did not reply to the sass.

“You have all of this footage, all this evidence,” Morel said. “I just - how? Why would you keep that?”

“Two reasons,” Killua explained. He lifted his right hand to gesticulate. He kept his left arm still as he could because Kalluto had dozed off against it. He put up his pointer finger. “One, it’s kept as collateral. Blackmail. You do what we want, you get paid. but if you talk, we’ll release the footage. Or bank statements or fucking whatever.”

“And two,” Alluka said, seamlessly picking up where Killua left off, “This is possible because our family has an internal group with the sole job of safely securing this data and sequestering it away from prying eyes.”

“And what’s that?” Canary asked from her perch atop the counter.

A beat. Nanika was the one who replied.

“Me.”

Every eye in the room turned to her. She ducked her head to stare at the soupy dregs of melted ice cream at the bottom of her bowl. “It was grandma before me, and then Milluki for a while. But I’m good with computers. The best. Milluki trained me when I was a little kid, but I outpaced him in less than a year.”

“Milluki is one of the best venture capital investors in the field,” Kurapika said through numb lips. The man was repulsive and rude, but he was _brilliant_ at what he did.

Nanika lifted her chin to meet Kurapika’s gaze. “I’m better.” 

There was no braggadocio in her tone, no prideful conceit. She said it with the calm certainty of someone observing that it was raining in the middle of a downpour.

“Allie is really, really good, too,” Nanika went on. She held her sister’s hand. “We’re a team. I hack systems, get what we need, get out without ever being noticed. Allie designs all of our programs and hardware.”

“Programs?” Morel echoed. Kurapika sighed and stood up to get a second cup of coffee. Canary stopped his momentum with an arm.

“Uh-uh-uh,” she told him. “This will be your third cup. It’s eleven. I’m cutting you off.”

“I am a grown man,” Kurapika retorted irritably. “If I want another cup of coffee I’ll get one.”

Canary did not look intimidated. Instead, she reached for a water bottle and stuffed it into Kurapika’s hand. Grumbling, Kurapika returned to his seat.

“Pushover,” Killua stage-whispered across the table to Kurapika as he took a gulp of water. Wait, holy shit, he was _thirsty._ He chugged half of the water bottle to stop himself from calling a nineteen-year-old kid a brat.

“Security programs,” Alluka was explaining, “Financial programs for better predictions. Earwigs and untraceable drives and bugs. Pseudo-spy stuff. And I do a lot of support work for Nani. And our parents weren't too worried about us leaving because, well, they controlled everything in our lives.”

"They tried to," Killua corrected woodenly. His gaze settled, unfocused, on a bare expanse of kitchen wall somewhere over their heads.

Morel looked to Kalluto, as if to ask what sort of hell they had gone through, but by now they were properly sleeping on Killua’s shoulder. Alluka giggled.

“We should be going to bed,” she said. She looked between Kurapika and Morel. Hopefully, she asked, “Will you two be back soon?”

“I’ll try, kiddo,” Morel said. “We need to push forward with this investigation lest our window of opportunity close, but doing too much too fast can trigger suspicion early. It’s a balancing act. But I should be here every few days or so to check in. What are you all doing in the meantime?"

Nanika shrugged. “Homeschool. We have an instructor, Gotoh, who is going to be coming in and out to teach Allie, Kalluto, and me.” She exchanged another loaded, meaningful look with Killua. “He’s on our side. I wish you all could meet him, but we don’t trust that the family isn’t going to try and keep an eye on us through him. I’ve designed trackers and communications divides that work on glasses and buttons and all that, so it’s possible he could transmit something to our family inadvertently. I’d jam the comms but that would be suspicious because the family doesn’t know I have any of that equipment on me.”

All of this work and these kids _still_ needed to do backflips just to feel safe. “What about school?” Kurapika asked. “Or...friends?” _Nicely done._

Killua snorted out a laugh. “You think Silva Zoldyck would be caught dead sending his kids to school? A snooty private school, where we could meet, God forbid, a fucking _normal person?_ And he’d shave his head before he let us go to a public school. No, dear old dad had us homeschooled so he could keep a close eye on us and our every waking moment like the micromanaging control freak he is.”

He met Kurapika’s gaze. “I managed to get us out of the estate even this far because I convinced him that I’d have a hard time connecting with the rabble masses as a commissioner if I never actually met them. So I’m enrolled in a couple classes at the community college. Gonna get a second degree.”

“You already have a college degree?” Morel asked.

Killua rolled his eyes. “Two of my kid sisters are tech whizzes that could crack the Kakin Empire’s security in three minutes with their eyes closed, and you’re surprised _I_ have a _degree?”_

Morel shook his head. “Just impressed, kid.” _Just sad,_ he thought but didn’t say, Kurapika was sure. “I didn’t realize that we were taking you from one prison and forcing you into another.”

“You’re not!” Alluka cried. “We’re not being forced at all, Mr. Morel! This is wonderful! Miss Canary and Miss Amane are both so nice! And we’re together and safe and you use the right pronouns for us!”

“This is so much better,” Nanika said happily.

Either these kids had the darkest senses of humor Kurapika had ever seen, or this was their coping mechanism, or they really meant that sitting alone in a secured safe house with a revolving door of police and detectives and lawyers coming through was a better situation, or all of those - but Kurapika suddenly felt his throat closing up again. These kids felt safe for the first time in years, perhaps in their lives, because of them. Because of _him._

This case was going to kill him, Kurapika realized. He wanted to cry but it felt like his face was frozen and his tear ducts blocked.

Morel did not have that issue at all, of course. He was a man very in touch with his emotions and comfortable expressing them. He wore teary eyes and an open, kind expression as he slid off of his chair to rest on one knee in front of the Zoldyck kids. By kneeling, he was for once not towering over everyone in the room.

“That means a lot, kiddos,” Morel told them honestly. “It really does. But I want you to know we’re gonna keep you safe from here on out, okay? Whatever happens in this case, we won’t let anything bad happen to you again.”

The girls blinked, tears on their cheeks. Sergeant Pupper hopped up like the good dog she was, nosing Alluka, Nanika, and Morel and licking their faces. The girls laughed and pulled away, palming the dog slobber off of their faces.

“You should get to bed,” Killua told them. “It’s late.”

Alluka nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Nanika did the same but with her nose. Their actions mirrored each other as they pulled identical faces of sleepy exhaustion. These kids were so _freaking_ cute.

“You, too, Kiki,” Nanika said. “And Kalluto.”

“‘M not tired,” Killua said. “And Kalluto’s out cold.”

“Here, I got him.” Morel said. He stood up to lift Kalluto’s slight, sleeping form. “Him? Them?”

“Either-or,” Alluka said with a shrug. “I think they use, well, they, mostly. But they won’t kill you if you use ‘he.’”

“Just _don’t_ use ‘she,’” Alluka ordered.

“Got it, kiddos,” Morel assured them. He lifted Kalluto with one arm, an impressive feat that Kurapika tried not to envy. He ruffled the hair atop the girls’ heads. “Thanks for teaching this old dog a few new tricks.”

“You’re not old!” Alluka said to Morel as she started to lead them up the stairs. “You’re, what, thirty? Forty?”

“Miss Zoldyck, I think we are going to get along just swimmingly,” Morel announced. His voice tapered off as he went up the stairs. The kitchen fell into silence as only Killua and Kurapika were left downstairs. Amane and Canary stepped out to secure their perimeter for the night.

After a few moments, Killua spoke. “You told me you don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kurapika knew he was referring to Morel’s words, his assurances that they would not let anything happen to these kids anymore. Kurapika was not such an asshole he would try to worm around this one on a technicality - just because he had not used the words _I promise_ did not mean that was not exactly what he had done. And sure, Kurapika could say that the process of removing the kids from their home was a matter for the social work system and child protective services, not the criminal justice system. And with the few things Kurapika had been told so far, he knew that there was enough meat here to stop those parents from ever seeing hide or hair of their children again. But Kurapika also knew that there was not much he could do if he provoked the full ire of the Zoldyck family for taking their children away. They would come at him with the wrath of a dragon and swallow him whole. This case had the potential to ruin Kurapika - his career, his life, his soul.

And still, Kurapika held Killua’s blue-eyed stare and said, “I don’t.”

This case could unmake him utterly. It could kill him. Kurapika dearly wished the Zoldycks would try.

Killua looked down at his half-empty ice cream. It had melted into a liquid puddle now. Kurapika was sure all of the good bits were congealed to the bottom now. With a sigh, Kurapika reached for the carton and stood to put it in the freezer.

“I didn’t think there were adults like you,” Killua told him suddenly. Kurapika shut the freezer door and turned back around. He lay his back against the stainless steel surface and wondered when he became the adult people turned to. He was turning thirty next year, and some days he still felt like an overgrown teenager playing dress-up in a suit and tie, faking it till he made it.

Some days Kurapika wondered if he would ever know what _it_ was. If he would even know it when he found it.

But that would not reassure Killua at all, so Kurapika asked, “Like what?”

“Like…” Killua flapped a hand in Kurapika’s direction. “Not fucking assholes, I guess. Dependable. Honest. Kind. Good.”

Kurapika stared at Killua. His mouth opened, trying to find words. There were no words. His mind was blank and empty. He wanted to argue, to protest, because Killua had it wrong. He needed to know he had it all wrong. Kurapika was a monster. A husk of a man driven by rage and vengeance who did not care who he plowed over in order to get what he needed. He was none of those things that Killua had listed.

Morel and Mizai were _dependable._ Bisky was _honest._ Melody was _kind._ Leorio was _good._

Kurapika was _none_ of those things, let alone _all_ of them. He wasn’t. He _wasn’t._ Dependable, honest, kind, good people did not do the things Kurapika did. But here he was, standing in a safe house kitchen in the middle of the night, knowing full well he would throw every legal and illegal advantage and contact he had into this case. Knowing he would risk everything to keep these children safe.

But then he wondered - wasn’t that what good people did? Throw everything they had at the world in the hope of making it just a bit better?

The idea made Kurapika nearly dizzy.

Killua, misunderstanding Kurapika’s silence as discomfort and not a complete shattering of Kurapika’s worldview, looked away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Got all weird there. Just forget it.”

“No, wait,” Kurapika interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who should apologize. I was just...surprised. Thank you.”

Killua shrugged. “It’s whatever.” He looked towards the stairs. “I should be getting to bed.”

“Yes,” Kurapika agreed. “It’s getting late.”

Killua snorted. “You’re such a _mom.”_ He waved a hand behind him as he made his way for the stairs. Kurapika floundered, watching him go, feeling like there was something he had done wrong, said wrong, something he was _missing_ in this mess of a puzzle.

“Killua!” Kurapika called. The teenager stopped where he was and turned, his hands once again in his pockets and shoulders curled down and in. Kurapika took a breath and said, “I’m not very good at...emotions. Offering comfort. But I think all of those words that you just used to describe me - dependable, honest, kind, good… I think those apply to you, as well.”

Kurapika stepped forward to rest a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “I know it can be easy to think differently. For a lot of reasons. But what you have done is incredibly brave, and it is something I endlessly respect. Thank you for letting us help you.”

Killua swallowed thickly and looked down at his feet. Still, just for a second, Kurapika swore he saw a glimmer of a smile across his face. It was gone again a few moments later. “Thanks, old man. I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

He pulled away, calling a lazy but genuine “good-night” over his shoulder. Kurapika stood alone in the living room in the twilight darkness illuminated only by the light above the oven. He eyed the clock above the stove. It read _11:07pm._ Strange how only a few hours could have changed Kurapika’s entire view of himself.

For so long, Kurapika wondered who he was or who he might be without his rage. The conclusions he came to were that he was heartless, a monster, a criminal no better than those he prosecuted or left chained up with their sins on display. Cold, alone. Empty.

For the first time, standing in that kitchen, Kurapika considered there might be a different road at the end of this tunnel. A world where a terrified, traumatized teenager could look at him and see someone he trusted to keep his family safe. Someone dependable, honest, kind.

_Good._

Those kids thought that Kurapika might just be _good._ And for them - for them, Kurapika was willing to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! it's much appreciated. i finished this chapter and was like oh yeah i'm adopting all these kids now.
> 
> please leave a comment/kudos/subscribe for more updates!!
> 
> as always you can my on tumblr on my blog @notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com!


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the case grows more complicated and dangerous as, inexorably, more innocent (and not) bystanders are pulled into the web.
> 
> CW for language and mentions of blood and fighting

## 

part 4.

It took a few weeks, but at last, their investigation started to gather some momentum.

Not that the Zoldyck Investigation did not already have the momentum of a freight train or a bullet. But after a lot of talking in circles and meeting and organizing, the investigators at last managed to fall into a rhythm. They met with the Zoldycks two to three nights a week for questioning and recorded testimony (and dinner, and one ill-fated game of _Monopoly_ that led to Alluka owning half of the board and Mizai somehow losing five hundred real-life jenny to Morel in a bet he was usually smart enough not to take).

This was facilitated by the program Alluka had drafted up for them. When she claimed she had made a “computer room,” Kurapika had pictured something classic, like a desk and a computer. Maybe a potted plant in the corner. Something _normal._

But no - there was nothing normal when it came to the siblings Zoldyck. This computer room was a retro-futuristic room complete with blackout curtains and neon tube lights lining the ceiling. There was an array of monitors set up along the back wall and a desk with three additional screens set up on it. Wires were coiled into neat bunches, taped to the floor and wall siding to protect passerby from tripping. A tower of hard drives occupied one corner, a massive desk spread with tools and metal parts in a second, and in a third was an array of street signs that were definitely stolen from their poles and approximately eight cases of Mountain Dew: Code Red. A window air conditioning unit hummed in the corner, keeping the room at a frigid sixty degrees.

“How did you get all of this?” Kurapika asked the first time he stepped inside. He craned his neck to take everything in. The neon lights around the ceiling ebbed and melded into blue, pink, red, yellow, green. “Amane and Canary checked everything you brought in.”

“They did,” Nanika said. She drew her braids up into a ponytail behind her head and sat in her rolling chair - a bright pink gamer chair with bunny ears in the back - like it was a throne.

“So how did you get all of this in here?” Kurapika asked.

Kalluto looked up from their SAT math prep workbook. They had a sly little smile on their face. “I’m sneaky.”

Kurapika indicated the monitors. “But all of these things - where did you get them? Who procured these for you?”

Alluka did not look up from where she was tinkering with something in her hands. “Someone owed me a favor.”

“Someone…?” Kurapika pinched his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. He breathed in, held it, released. “Do I want to know who?”

“Probably not,” Alluka said. “I swear it’s not illegal, Mr. Kurapika. Just a trade.”

Kurapika turned to Alluka, who was beaming up at him from her spot. Her goggles magnified her eyes to nearly three times their regular size. Knowing he was defeated by his exhaustion and apparent weakness to the twins’ puppy-dog eyes, Kurapika let out a long sigh.

_I need another cup of coffee,_ Kurapika thought. _Spiked._

“Just...please don’t do anything that can garner attention,” Kurapika finally said. The twins sent him identical grins that glowed in the neon lights, and even Kalluto laughed softly down into their book. Kurapika turned to the screens. “Alright. Let’s pick up from last week. I’ll put on my recorder, and we’ll go from there.” Kurapika pulled his phone from his pocket and set it down in the middle of the room (ignoring the unimpressed looks the siblings all shared at his older-model phone with its cracked screen). He skimmed his notes on his pad and turned to the screen. “Tell me more about your family’s affiliations with the Mayor Netero’s advisors…”

They went from there. Alluka had built a program that organized the names, faces, connections, affiliations, and crimes of every person the Zoldyck family was connected to. One could use the touch screens to zoom in on a single person’s profile, with their alleged crimes and the evidence accrued against them listed below, or zoom out to see the entire vast, multi-colored web of corruption spanning the Yorknew elite. After nearly a month of near-constant investigations, Kurapika thought it might be easier to list who _wasn’t_ implicated in some form of racketeering than who _was._

There was enough evidence here that Bisky could spend the rest of her career writing articles and books about the Zoldyck criminal empire. That was the only word for it - _empire._

It did not escape Kurapika’s attention that several other members of the DA’s office were implicated in this web, as well. Fellow ADA’s Phinks Magcub and Pakunoda were included, as was the head of the Forensics lab Shizuku Murasaki and Head Coroner for the city Machi Komacine. And of course, reigning as the festive topper atop this vile tiered cake of maleficence sat Chrollo Lucifer. The Zoldyck siblings provided evidence in the form of emails, kickbacks, forged evidence, and unethical deals going back fifteen years.

If the kids noticed one case in particular - a cold case with plenty of evidence, a named suspect, and a living witness that was never prosecuted - they did not mention it.

They spent the next few hours recording testimony and adding to Alluka’s program before they at last took a break. Nanika sighed, cracking open a bottle of Mountain Dew like it was a beer and sipping. She asked her siblings, “Where’s Kiki?”

“He had classes today,” Alluka replied.

“Those should have ended at seven, though,” Kalluto pointed out without looking up from their book. They did not have a watch or phone on them, yet they added with utmost confidence, “It’s almost eight now.”

Kurapika glanced at his phone and saw it was, indeed, 7:58. He wondered if he would ever stop being amazed by and slightly frightened of these kids.

Nanika snorts. “Maybe he’s talking to that _boy.”_

“Of course he is,” Kalluto said, idly turning a page. “Ten thousand jenny they’re getting dinner.”

Kurapika tried not to choke on the absurd bet with the even more absurd amount of money. Alluka rolled her eyes. “I’m not taking that bet! Of course he is! Spice it up some and maybe we’ll talk.”

“Fine. Ten grand they went to that new pho place on Grand.”

“Deal,” Alluka said, jotting down the bet. “I’ll toss another two in. I think Kiki brought him to something greasy and cheap. Burgers.”

“Me too,” Nanika jumped in cheerfully. At her siblings’ accusatory glares, she stuck her tongue out at them. “I’m not cheating! This time. I just want to play. Three grand they’re at that ice cream place off campus, the one where you can get sundaes the size of your head. Four if they're sharing.”

“Who is this boy?” Kurapika asked, trying not to sound like he was demanding it. If there was one more goddamn person thrown into this situation, he was pretty sure he was going to pass out. A man can only contend with so many moving variables before he simply gave up and choked Chrollo out with his chains in the break room.

He also did not want to ask where three adolescents came up with fifteen thousand jenny and the attitude to toss it around like a hacky sack.

“Dunno,” Nanika said. At Kurapika’s steady gaze, she pouted up at him. _“Really._ Killua’s business is his business. I wouldn't stoop so low as to pry into my darling brother’s affairs.”

Kurapika bit back a laugh. “He won’t tell you a thing about him, will he?”

_“No,_ he _won’t!”_ Nanika whined. She banged her free hand on her desk for good measure. “Nothing! Not a name, or his age, or what he studies, anything! I wouldn’t even look up his credit history or stalk his social media! Just a teeny, tiny little background check. I wouldn’t even read his record. Much.”

“Nanika,” Kurapika warned her. “You know those are illegal without a warrant.” A beat. “And impossible to access - have you hacked the police’s warrant records?”

Nanika shifted guiltily in her seat. “Maybe.” Another disappointed look. Finally she relented, “Fine, yes! Just to make a few tweaks. Not since we left home, though.”

“Alright, I believe you,” Kurapika sighed. He turned his attention back to the wall of monitors. “Let’s add tampering with an investigation to the list, too.”

“I just want to know who it _is,”_ Alluka said, sighing explosively and dramatically. “He’s so secretive! He texts him _all the time_ and talks about him a ton, but he never _says anything.”_

“‘He’s the smartest idiot I’ve ever met,’” Kalluto rattled off, apparently quoting their older brother. “‘He got scratched by a fox because its leg was caught in a trap and he needed to save him.’ ‘He told me he thought melancholy was a vegetable and now I dream of kissing him in the moonlight -’”

The bedroom door slammed open and Killua stalked in. He chucked his phone at Kalluto, who caught it with a smirk. “You suck, Killua.”

“Shut the hell up, Kalluto!” Killua yelled. He stomped over and caught Kalluto in a headlock, grinding his knuckles onto the top of their head. Kalluto yelled, their limbs flailing and slapping at Killua. Kalluto finally got Killua to release his hold by biting down on Killua’s forearm. Killua yelped with a loud swear and dropped Kalluto to land on their behind. Then there was more yelling as Alluka demanded that they stop fighting because they were shaking the floor and messing up her circuitry, and Nanika started in, too, because the noise was getting in the way of her programming. Finally Kurapika drew himself up to his full height, arms folded across his chest, and in his best Courtroom Voice, he ordered, _“Enough!”_

As one, the children froze. Four sets of eyes turned to him with identical expressions of _oh shit mom yelled._ Kurapika went on, “Killua, help Kalluto up and apologize for attacking your sibling. Kalluto, stop teasing your brother, well-deserved though it may be.”

_“Ha!”_ Kalluto shouted; Killua glared mutinously until Kurapika cleared his throat again. “Alluka, Nanika, stop adding to the chaos.”

Kurapika expected the siblings to remind him that he was a lawyer, not their mother, and inform him that he could generally go fuck himself. Instead, they chorused as one, _“yes, Kurapika,”_ and Killua helped Kalluto to their feet without complaint, adjusting the ribbon that tied their kimono shut.

_Huh,_ Kurapika thought. _That was unexpected._

“So, _were_ you with your boyfriend?” Alluka asked. Her Cheshire grin ran almost the full width of her face.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Killua snapped, drawing himself up to his full height (a more impressive motion than Kurapika’s, because he actually added inches to his height when he was not ruining his spine with his terrible posture) and glowering at them all. The intimidating aura he was going for was offset by the scarlet flush crawling up his neck and reaching his ears. “He is a _friend._ Who is also a _boy._ Well. A man. Not a boy. That’d be weird. We’re both nineteen. He’s pre-vet.”

“Oh?” Nanika asked too-innocently. “Pre-vet, you say? And what class is it you have together again, dearest darlingest favorite older brother?”

Kurapika cleared his throat. Nanika jumped, grinning guiltily, and then she tabbed back to their program. “Fine, fine. So, about this Hill guy…”

~

Kurapika only had enough room in his head to worry about, oh, twenty or so things at a time. It was one of his greatest skills, up there with his tenacity in closing his cases and his eloquence when he addressed the court and his ability to take a punch and then throw a wicked right hook in the next breath.

But every single one of Kurapika’s carefully-tended worries all flew out of his brain in a screaming tumble one Thursday morning, just over a month after the Zoldycks were moved into the safe house. He had been standing side-by-side with Leorio, doing an admirable job keeping cool and unflustered as the taller man leaned over his shoulder to fill out the crossword with him. Kurapika could feel the warmth of his tall frame a careful two inches from his own, smell the doctor’s fresh, smoky cologne, hear the warmth and laughter in his voice as they debated the top comedy of the summer five years ago. He was called forward to place his order, and he shook his head, smiling to himself for no reason other than that he was with Leorio and his tie was green today, and he looked up and met a very familiar pair of blue eyes.

Kurapika and Killua stood frozen on either side of the counter, gaping silently at each other. Kurapika in his best suit for court, Killua in a button-up, khakis, black apron and visor. His name tag read _**Kiki.**_

They probably stared no longer than a second, but it felt so much longer as they exchanged a wordless conversation of _don’t be mad_ and _what the fuck are you doing here and what are you thinking, getting a job at a coffee shop three blocks from the courthouse_ and _please yell at me later because we need to be calm and also you’re holding up a line._

“What can I get started for you?” Killua asked.

“A medium caramel macchiato,” Kurapika said through numb lips. “Please.” _Please tell me this isn’t happening._

He handed over his credit card. Killua frowned, tapping buttons for the order. Something didn’t seem to be working.

“Oh, you missed the hot or iced button.” The sunny-smiled barista popped up, peering over Killua's shoulder. He moved with the surprising silence and grace of a cat. Kurapika braced himself for Killua “no one touch me” Zoldyck to jump or break cover, but he did nothing. He only went pink over his cheeks and ears as Gon braced his chin on Killua’s shoulder and reached around him to tap at a few buttons. “There you go, Killua!”

Kurapika’s gaze snapped to Killua’s. His eyes said what his mouth could not - _Killua?_

_Later,_ Killua’s eyes promised as he handed back Kurapika’s card. _Do not tell my siblings this._

As if Kurapika would. As if he needed to add yet another headache to this domino effect of disaster just waiting for them to make one wrong move. Kurapika only nodded in thanks and stepped aside to wait. He listened to Leorio place his order - a large black coffee with two shots of vanilla; they shared a sweet tooth, apparently, although where Kurapika would have added more sugar and creamer Leorio just drank it black - while pretending to re-engross himself in the crossword.

“Sorry for the delay,” Killua was mumbling into the register as he took Leorio’s order.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Take your time,” Leorio said kindly. “First day?”

“Third,” Killua muttered, and Kurapika wanted to pull his hair out.

Leorio responded with his usual bracing demeanor, because he did not know that he was talking to the heir apparent to one of the most infamous crime families in a century in this cute coffee shop. “You’re doing great. It gets easier after the first week.” He leaned in just a bit, speaking in a stage whisper. “The customers don’t though.”

Killua blinked. And then he grinned, just a little, but the motion actually met his eyes. It was the first time Kurapika had seen Killua smile like that at anyone who wasn’t his siblings. Kurapika had only been graced with one such smile a handful of times, and that took _weeks_ of working together.

Leorio Paladiknight, MD, was perhaps the warmest, kindest, and most magical man Kurapika had ever met, and he was hard-put not to sigh and smile longingly like a pining heroine when Leorio joined him again.

“What about _Nights in Kakin?”_ Leorio asked as he approached, talking casually like Kurapika didn’t have, _I am so attracted to you I almost cannot function_ tattooed to his forehead. “For ten down?”

“Hm,” Kurapika hummed as he looked back down at the paper. He counted the letters. “It fits. Good catch.”

“Thanks,” Leorio said. He met Kurapika’s gaze with a small smile. They stood together for a few more minutes, bantering over different answers (“A specialist’s vocabulary is _lingo,_ not _jargon -” “Jargon_ doesn’t fit! Can you count?” “Can you _spell?”_ “That was _one time -”)_ until another voice called out Leorio’s name. His drink was often ready before Kurapika’s, although Leorio now waited for Kurapika’s to be done so they could walk out together. Kurapika did not know when this started changing, and he was too shy to even know how to ask.

“Leorio!” Gon called cheerfully. He passed the doctor his coffee, and then he added, sounding childishly, absolutely delighted, “And this is Killua! I told you about him, the friend I made at school! He’s the one who’s been helping me with math.”

Kurapika almost dropped his fucking crossword and spilled his papers all over the floor. His internal monologue was a mess of curses in about three different languages and wordless _screeching._ Because Kurapika by no means wanted to become another one of Killua’s jailers, controlling his life and movements, who he spent time with and where he went. But they were all still very much _under surveillance_ and it made everything in Kurapika’s life so much _harder_ when Killua’s new friend was shouting his real name in the middle of this store during the morning rush.

“You alright?” Leorio asked as he approached. “You seem...stiff.”

“Hm? Oh,” Kurapika said. He forced a smile to his lips. “I’m well, thank you. I have a trial in a little over an hour, and I admit I sometimes still get...nervous.” It wasn’t even a lie. Skilled in public speaking and persuasion as he was, Kurapika still got pre-trial jitters that made him feel slightly nauseous some days.

For a moment he feared that Leorio would scoff at him, because he was an adult and an attorney for the city, and shouldn’t he be past that? He must not be a very good lawyer, then. Except Leorio was kind where so many other people in Kurapika’s life were not, and instead of being an asshole he laughed in commiseration. “Yeah, I get that. I’ve been out of residency for almost two years now, and there are still some days where it’s like, do I really know what I’m doing? Am I really as big of an idiot as I feel some days?”

“Of course not,” Kurapika said, staring up at him and speaking without thinking. How could Leorio even wonder that? As if warm breezes did not grace every room he decided to walk into. “You are a brilliant, kind man who serves his community. I have no doubt that your patients see you with the same respect and admiration that I do.”

Kurapika’s brain did not catch up to his mouth or his fool, traitorous _heart,_ that chain-linked machine of cold clockwork in his chest, for several seconds. In that time, Kurapika was trapped staring up at Leorio, who was looking down at him in open, wide-eyed wonder. He looked like he had forgotten anyone else was in the shop with them, his cheeks pink in a self-conscious blush and lips slightly parted and eyes soft. Kurapika had never been looked at like that before. The heady rush of it left him feeling lightheaded and giddy.

“Kurapika!” Came Killua’s voice, snapping him out of this Moment like the cracking of a branch. Kurapika jumped, turning away from Leorio and moving to take his coffee from the teen’s proffered hand. They exchanged a brief nonverbal agreement -

_We’ll keep this quiet?_ Killua seemed to be asking. His eyes promised retribution and mutually assured destruction if Kurapika so much as breathed a word of this to his siblings. Well, the Gon part. Kurapika was pretty sure his siblings and protective detail knew about the job.

_We’ll keep this quiet,_ Kurapika agreed, mentally adding about eighteen caveats and noting that they were going to need to talk about this at least a little bit. He turned back to Leorio, who was still looking at him Like That.

Kurapika tried to stymie any nervous tics that could escape him. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Leorio said, nodding. The two exited the shop, walking the one block they shared back to their respective offices. The silence between them was charged - not in a bad way, but tense with something that they both seemed to feel but weren’t saying. They walked together until they reached the crosswalk where Leorio turned left and Kurapika carried on straight.

“Have a good day, Leorio,” Kurapika said. His words were formal and all the more for it following his brief moment of weakness (of _honesty)_ back in the store.

“Thanks,” Leorio said. “You, too. Good luck in court today.”

“Thanks,” Kurapika echoed. Another second. The crosswalk light changed, flipping to a lit-up walking stick figure and beeping mechanically. He made it a step before Leorio suddenly leapt forward.

“Wait,” he cried, catching Kurapika’s shoulder. Heat like wildfire raced down his arm, into his fingertips, across his back. Kurapika wondered if he looked at his skin if he would find a perfect brand of Leorio’s palm and long fingers tattooed into his pale skin. He stiffened, unused to the gentle touch and completely unprepared for his own reaction.

Leorio, misunderstanding Kurapika’s stillness as discomfort, immediately jerked his hand back. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to grab you. I just wanted to say thanks. For what you said earlier. It was...it meant a lot.”

Kurapika nodded stupidly. He wanted to add that he had a lot more to say, that he thought Leorio was warm and funny and sweet and handsome and good, that Leorio made him want to be a better man, that Leorio needed to only exist in his periphery and his entire being gravitated to him like a star, that he wanted to ask _Leorio, would you like to get coffee with me, get dinner, let’s see a movie or go to a museum or a park, let’s do something normal people do because being with you makes me actually get out of bed and look forward to my life now._

“Anyway,” Leorio said, and he stepped away from Kurapika. “I don’t want to make you late and you’re going to miss your crosswalk, and I have some paperwork to catch up on before my patients start coming in. Take care!”

“Good-bye,” Kurapika said, and he should have run to cross the street or at least raised his voice so Leorio could hear him as he spun on his heel and power-walked away. But all Kurapika could do was stare after him, tall and handsome and graceful in his gray jacket and green scarf. Fat-tongued and foolish, like the hopeless, pining, stupid asshole he was.

This case was going to kill Kurapika, but this man was going to break his heart first.

~

The trial went well. It was a fairly straightforward case - a disgruntled former employee who committed arson as revenge for being fired. (Heh. Fired. Because arson. Kurapika needed a new job because this one destroyed his sense of humor.) There was evidence in the form of security cameras, which were backed up to an off-site server, and fingerprints. A single-day trial, and Kurapika would be called sometime Friday when the jury came back with its verdict. Kurapika planned to spend the rest of his day catching up on paperwork and reviewing briefs for any of his two dozen other cases, probably getting another cup of coffee and doodling Leorio’s name in hearts in the margins of his notepad, except when Kurapika stepped off the elevator and into the office he was met with a deeply unpleasant sight.

Chrollo Lucifer was a man who possessed a certain charisma. It was not the polar opposite of Leorio’s natural warmth, but it was near it - he was warm when it served him and cold otherwise. He wore his dark hair slicked back and shiny, revealing a tattoo that was important for a cultural reason Kurapika respected but did not care about otherwise. His pale face was oddly ageless - Kurapika would not have put the man older than thirty-five if he did not know better, except he _did_ know better, and so he knew Chrollo was at least fifty. He wore a ridiculously nice, well-tailored suit and a deep purple tie and Kurapika considered just swinging his briefcase into the man’s head like Leorio did the other night. That sounded very satisfying.

“Kurapika,” Chrollo greeted. Kurapika wondered how long he had been waiting for him in front of the elevators like an overgrown bat. “Congratulations on your arson case.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika said with a short incline of his head. He wanted to sit down and drink water or connect his arm to an IV of coffee. “Is there a problem? I don’t often find you waiting for me off the elevator.”

Chrollo smiled, the motion leeched of any warmth. “That’s true,” he agreed. “But a recent case has come in that I believe would greatly benefit from your legal acumen. Come with me.”

That answered nothing, but Chrollo _probably_ couldn’t kill Kurapika in the middle of the district attorneys’ offices and get away with it, so with a silent huff of air he followed. Chrollo led him past overburdened cubicles and enough loose paper to make an environmentalist weep and showed him into their largest conference room. Kurapika relaxed slightly to see Melody sitting at the far end of the table, and he swept off to claim the seat she had blatantly reserved by putting her bag and her feet on the chair beside her. There was a wrapped sandwich from the deli across the way on the table; in another situation Kurapika would have waited to eat until he was sequestered back in his office, but it was three and he’d had nothing but coffee so far that day, so without further ado Kurapika opened the wax paper and started eating. If anyone had anything to say about it, he really would just whip out his chains and start swinging.

“Thank you all for attending,” Chrollo greeted them all, as if they had a choice in the matter. His gaze swept over the room, taking in attorneys Magcub, Morrow, and Kurapika himself, as well as junior attorneys Melody and Feitan and assistants Shalnark and Kortopi. “I have been working with Yorknew’s finest, Detectives Nobunaga and Uvogin, investigating the squalid rot of corruption within the city’s political sphere.”

Kurapika managed not to scoff loudly, but only because he had a mouthful of turkey and cheese. Chrollo went on, bringing up the photo of a handsome blond man in a pinstripe suit. He was waving and smiling at the camera with vacant, soulless brown eyes.

“Pariston Hill,” Chrollo introduced to the room, as if anyone would fail to recognize Mayor Netero’s closest advisor. “The detectives and I have been investigating alleged illegal activity with Mr. Hill.”

_Fascinating,_ Kurapika thought, _So have I. Let’s compare notes._

The case was fairly straightforward. Because Chrollo anticipated that turning over this particular rock would unearth a great deal more bugs than just Parison Hill, the district attorney sought to form a stellar task force to assist him. Kurapika was quiet during this meeting, citing his long day in court for his reticence when ADA Magcub asked what was on his mind. It did not escape his attention that Chrollo was eyeing him thoughtfully as Kurapika gave this perfectly valid excuse.

Kurapika did not like it. He did not like any of this. A great deal of the “allegations” against Pariston Hill were familiar to Kurapika, because he had spent the last month learning about his role in the Zoldyck criminal enterprise. These reports from the police department were full of half-truths and misdirections, pointing the police and lawyers away from the real culprits behind the latest money laundering and racketeering scandal. But Kurapika could not say anything about it, because to do so would reveal that he had his own source of information from their camp. And that would lead straight back to the Zoldyck children.

Kurapika was not stupid. He knew what this investigation meant. Someone on their side, be it Silva Zoldyck or Chrollo or someone else, had caught wind of their investigation, or at least was smart enough to follow their breadcrumbs and infer. This was the Zoldycks’ way of getting out ahead of Morel, Mizai, and Kurapika’s investigation: put out their own official information first, and pin it all on Pariston Hill. Who was definitely guilty of everything he was being accused of. But he was only a cog in the machine, a leg of the larger parasite that was sucking Yorknew dry.

After nearly two hours Chrollo released them. Kurapika sighed gratefully and returned his things to his office. Melody followed him, shutting the door quietly behind her. She did not need to say anything; Kurapika knew how to read the concern in her face, the questions _what do you think_ and _what have you gotten into this time, Kurapika?_

But all Kurapika told her was, “Thanks for the sandwich.”

Melody smiled. “Any time. I must head out, but I will be in early tomorrow to prepare for our seven-thirty meeting.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Kurapika said. He reached up to loosen the tie at his neck. “I very much appreciate all that you do, Melody.” _So much more than I can put into words._ “I plan to review some things before I leave for the evening. I will see you in the morning.”

“Of course,” Melody agreed. She tucked her beret over her head. “Don’t stay too late, Kurapika. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” Kurapika echoed. He smiled at her mechanically as he waved her out the door. When she disappeared from his sight, he sighed, running a hand through his hair and finally putting his papers away from his trial. He sat down to review a deposition in preparation for a murder case he had coming up. Kurapika wrinkled his brow when the facts of a particular case he _knew_ he knew but could not remember the details of, because he was an idiot (because he was _exhausted_ and _so_ overworked).

With a self-targeted snarl, Kurapika pushed back from his desk and stalked to the law library on their floor. It was not as large and grandiose as the one on the law school uptown, but Kurapika would actually rather die than attempt to make the forty-five minute trek back to his alma mater’s campus. An old professor might try to talk to him. They might ask him to update his address for their mailing list. They might ask him for more _money._

No, Kurapika was very happy with their little library. He strolled in, his shoes tapping smartly over the well-shined hardwood floors, and approached the tort law section. He was scowling and squinting at the book spines when the door opened.

Kurapika turned toward the noise, surprised that anyone else was here past seven o’clock. To his disappointment, the intruder was none other than Kurapika’s least-favorite fellow prosecutor.

“Kurapika,” Hisoka observed, looking delighted and utterly unsurprised to see him still in the office so late. “You’re still here?”

“Obviously,” Kurapika replied. He thought he rather deserved a commendation for not rolling his eyes.

“You’re always working,” Hisoka hummed as he approached. The low heels of his ankle boots echoed as they tapped against the floor. “Day and night. No friends, ADA Kurapika? No partners?”

Warm brown eyes and a chipped-tooth grin filled Kurapika’s mind, and he turned away from Hisoka with a sneer. “I am busy. What is it you need?”

“I wanted to pass along a warning.”

Kurapika whirled around. Hisoka had approached him when he had his back turned, getting improbably closer when his shoes had been so loud when he first entered. Now he was standing so Kurapika’s back was almost against the bookshelves, and the taller man loomed over him. Kurapika straightened his spine and lifted his chin, his expression not changing a jot. He was not afraid of Hisoka.

But there was something about this entire investigation that bothered Kurapika, aside from everything. And that was where Hisoka fit into it. He was too close to Chrollo and the others to be completely unaware of the District Attorney’s covert, unethical dealings. Yet of Chrollo’s inner circle, Hisoka was the only one who did not appear in the vast array of people implicated in the Zoldyck family’s affairs. He remained at all times exactly one step removed from _reasonable suspicion._ It drove Kurapika mad.

“And what is that?” Kurapika demanded.

“You best be careful,” Hisoka murmured. He reached forward, and it took all of Kurapika’s self-control not to snap his wrist. But all Hisoka did was brush his fingertips over his shoulder, plucking off a stray bit of hair that clung to Kurapika’s suit jacket.

A long, golden dog hair. Kurapika’s stomach bottomed out.

Hisoka lifted an eyebrow. “Taking up pet sitting now, Kurapika?”

Their eyes met, yellow on gray. Kurapika replied tonelessly, “I have. A favor for a neighbor.”

“I see,” Hisoka said. He turned back to the shelves and trailed his fingers over the leather-backed spines of the case books. “And we do all endeavor to be good neighbors.”

He plucked a book from the shelves. To the outside observer it would have seemed at random, but Kurapika knew better. Hisoka had known what book he needed and exactly where it was the moment he stepped into the room, and everything up until now had just been part of his little game.

“Did you know,” Hisoka asked brightly as he walked to the door. “Chrollo is _violently_ allergic to dogs? I’d hate to see what might happen if he caught a whiff of them on you.”

Kurapika’s heart turned to lead. Chrollo knew about the kids. Of course he knew. He was in a mutually beneficial relationship with their parents. Just _what,_ exactly, he knew, and how much he was sure of and how much he suspected, were all variables that could send this entire operation crashing down.

_This_ was why Chrollo wanted Kurapika’s input on the Pariston Hill racketeering case. A gambit to draw Kurapika into his web, keeping an eye out to determine exactly how much Kurapika knew or uncovered about the Zoldycks’ meddling in political affairs. By keeping him close, Chrollo could ensure that he directed Kurapika to sources that would implicate only Pariston and neither the Zoldycks nor himself.

And if he kept an eye on Kurapika - if he saw fit to investigate him or track his movements - there was so much he could uncover. Bloody Chain. Leorio. The kids. The _kids._

Hisoka skipped a few steps away. He was at the door by the time Kurapika found his voice.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Hm?” Hisoka asked, turning in the doorway. Kurapika glared at him and took deep breaths to keep his terror and temper under control. He could not afford to allow Hisoka to see his irises change color.

_“Why,”_ Kurapika repeated through gritted teeth, “Are you telling me this?”

“Why, Kurapika,” Hisoka said, and he smiled, wide and vacuous. It mixed poorly with the cruel joy in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve learned in my time as a prosecutor - ignorance is often the best shield. Best learn when to make use of it.”

Kurapika’s hand clenched on his book. The aged leather spine cracked from the strength of his fingers squeezing. His voice trembled as he snarled, _“Get out.”_

Hisoka twiddled his fingers. “So _cranky._ Good-night, Kurapika! Get home safe!”

~

_Get home safe,_ Hisoka had said. Because he was a prick and a chaotic, feral _asshole._

Were Kurapika in a better mental state, he would have been more worried or angry. He would have wondered if his cover as Bloody Chain was blown. If Hisoka had guessed, and if he had guessed, with whom he had shared those suspicions. If someone _else_ knew, and who, and who _they_ had told. On and on until Kurapika felt like his head would explode from overthinking. It felt too convenient that Zoldyck enforcers would be at the exact drop point Kurapika was staking out. All he had wanted was some photographs, perhaps a license plate. He hadn’t even planned on leaving his perch.

Of course, when Kurapika was ambushed by five bodyguards, he had been more than ready for a fight. Anything to burn off this angry, antsy frenetic energy thrumming under his skin. Anything to channel the anxiety that he could not shake. So Bloody Chain was a little too glad to dive into a five-on-one fight.

They had left ten minutes ago, and only now was Kurapika trying to move. It hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to _be._ Was he dying? Was he going to die on this roof?

_Okay,_ Kurapika thought to himself. _Stop being dramatic. You’re thinking and breathing and feeling, so all your main faculties are still operational. Bottom to top. Check in. Toes. Ankles. Knees. Hips. Fingers. Arms._

His legs were fine. His fingers and knuckles throbbed, but they moved when and where he ordered them. His forearms ached with defensive injuries. His torso was definitely in the worst shape. Kurapika licked his lips, which felt icy and chapped in the chill, dry late autumn air. He tasted salty sweat and the iron tang of blood. So he was bleeding. His nose? His forehead?

Kurapika hissed in pain as he tried to move. He was not in any shape to get up yet, nor to take care of his own injuries as he tended to do. Which meant -

_No,_ Kurapika admonished himself immediately. _You cannot call him. You’re in this situation because you’re being watched. You can’t bring him further into this._

_He’s already in this,_ he argued with himself. _He’s been in this since you saw him at Happy Whale Coffee. He volunteered for this._

_Because he’s a kindhearted fool who would patch up his own mugger when given the chance._

_A kindhearted fool you adore with every fiber of your vile, putrid heart. A kindhearted fool you will never see again if you pass out and freeze to death on this rooftop._

Kurapika could not protect Leorio if he was dead. He could not protect the kids if he could not follow through on their investigation. He had made them a promise.

Kurapika snarled in pain, his body shaking as he tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. In a fit of either uncharacteristic pragmatism or romantic fancy, he had already added Dr. Leorio Paladiknight’s cell phone number to his contact list. His arm protested the movement as he lifted the phone to his ear.

_What will you do if he doesn’t answer?_ Kurapika asked himself as the phone rang.

But he needn’t have worried: after two rings the line picked up. _“This is Leorio.”_

Oh, no, Kurapika realized. No, he should have worried about what would happen when Leorio _did_ answer, how he would start this conversation, how he would keep his head when it now buzzed with the sound of the doctor’s warm, sleep-roughened voice in his ear.

A few moments of silence. _“Hello? Is someone there?”_

There was nothing for it. Kurapika sat up a bit taller. “In a manner of speaking.”

A pause, then a staticky rush of air as Leorio exhaled a breath. _“Chain.”_

“Indeed,” Kurapika said, and this was a terrible time to flirt and wonder what the doctor’s hair looked like splayed over a pillow. He lay his head back against the rough-hewn brick roof wall. “I appear to have found myself in...a bit of trouble.”

_“A bit of trouble, hm?”_ Leorio asked. _“And are you asking me for bail? A getaway car?”_

Kurapika huffed out a surprised laugh that quickly became a groan. “Ugh, stop being funny. Makes everything hurt more.” He pressed a hand to his side, winced, winced again when his palm came away stained red. “I...would like to take you up on that medical attention. If the offer still stands.”

Leorio snorted into the receiver. Kurapika could hear the sounds of fabric rustling as Leorio got up and started moving. He recalled the scent of the doctor’s cologne and wondered if his sheets smelled like that, too, and then he wondered if he needed a hospital after all, because he _had_ to have a head injury, if he was bleeding on a rooftop and thinking about this doctor’s bedsheets. _“Even if it didn’t, it wouldn’t expire now. Can you walk?”_

Kurapika slowly rose to his feet. He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, but his legs held his weight. “Sure.”

Leorio muttered something in a language Kurapika could not parse. _“Go to 72 Main Street. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t make me come looking for you.”_

Leorio hung up before Kurapika could ask cheekily, through his chattering teeth and the purr of interest buzzing in his chest, _or what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! the plot continues to thicken as all our carefully-made plans unravel. please leave a kudos/comment or subscribe for more updates!!! thank you!!
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr @notantherwritingblog! take care 💖💖💖


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the tension between kurapika and leorio reaches a breaking point. killua would like to introduce someone to his family.
> 
> CW for discussions of medical care, blood and injuries, swearing, some sensuality 👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i want my chapters to be around 5k-10k words! i want to write some shorter chapters!!!  
> also me: *posts 13k word chapter*
> 
> this is SO FUCKING SELF-INDULGENT and i am NOT SORRY.

## 

part 5.

72 Main Street was a storefront that occupied the entirety of the first floor of a five-story brick building. The larger, newer buildings on either side dwarfed it. Kurapika dimly appreciated that Leorio had the good sense not to turn on any of the front lights. He peered around the street to ensure he was not being watched (not that he could have done anything about it if he was). Seeing no one, he pushed the door open. The motion sent a sick wave of pain up his arm and through his chest, radiating through his ribs and stomach, and he gave a low grunt of pain. The door felt like it was two thousand pounds as he tried to move it. A moment later, however, that weight was miraculously lifted. 

“Holy shit, Chain, what _happened?”_ Leorio asked as he opened the door. With one arm he supported Kurapika’s weight; with the other, he shut the door and locked the deadbolt. His hands were hot on Kurapika’s upper arms as he supported him. _“Shit,_ you’re shaking, get in here -” 

Kurapika hissed out a laugh. “Would you believe it was a high-stakes poker game?” 

Leorio snorted and started steering him across the dark waiting room. “I’d believe you had a head injury first. C’mon.” 

Even if Kurapika didn’t know that the doctor spent almost all of his time here, the way Leorio could easily pick his way across the room in the near-pitch blackness would have told him. He showed Kurapika into the closest office off of the waiting room and instructed him to sit on the exam table. Kurapika grimaced behind his mask as he gingerly stepped up and settled onto the table, his side and ribs protesting his movement. 

The lock on the door sliding into place was oddly loud in the silent room, as was the click of the light switch flicking on. The dim light above the sink illuminated the room in a soft yellow glow. 

“No lights,” Kurapika muttered, casting his gaze to the window. Even with the blinds flipped closed, the light could fade through. It could alert anyone passing by that there was someone here in this clinic past midnight. Nothing good ever happened after midnight. 

“Can’t do that,” Leorio said, going to the sink to wash his hands. “Not sure about you, but I don’t do my best work fumbling around in the dark.” 

Kurapika hissed in a silent breath at the innuendo. Leorio couldn’t have meant it like that. The hot spike of nerves in his stomach did not seem to care. 

“You didn’t actually answer me earlier,” Leorio said as he turned back around. Kurapika blinked, his mind short-circuiting as he took in the doctor’s appearance. He looked tired but relaxed, his angular jaw scruffy with five o’clock shadow. He wore a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, like he had really just rolled out of bed and ran across town to the clinic to help him. 

_Ugh,_ Kurapika thought, unable to peel his eyes away from the doctor. He was so, so _kind_ and he looked so, so _good._ He immediately realized that he had made a horrible mistake, taking Leorio up on his offer. 

“What happened, Chain?” Leorio repeated. “I don’t need to know why you were doing it or what you were looking for. We can agree it’s probably for the best I don’t know. But anything you can tell me will help me out here.” 

Kurapika nodded. He was grateful he had added a thick, black-knit cap Melody had gotten him for the holidays a few years ago to his ensemble. It kept his hair safely secured from Leorio’s sight. “That makes sense. It was a group of enforcers. I think five? Standard beat-down.” 

Leorio paled at this revelation, but that was the extent of his reaction. “What hurts most?” 

“My ribs,” Kurapika said. “My arms and fists.” 

“Defensive injuries?” Leorio asked. 

Kurapika shot him a reproachful glare. “And offensive.” 

Leorio sent him a crooked grin. “Naturally. I bet the other guys aren’t feeling too hot, either.” 

Kurapika grinned, even though Leorio couldn’t see it. But something about the matching laugh that Leorio sent him made him think that Leorio sensed it anyway. 

“I’m going to need to see your torso,” Leorio said. “Will you be able to take your shirt off?” 

“I think,” Kurapika said. “But my - my hat might shift. Turn around.” 

Leorio shot him a look. “I think we’re at the point I can see your face, Chain.” 

_“Turn. Around.”_ Kurapika ground out, though that was mostly because of pain rather than irritation as he started removing his jacket. Leorio rolled his eyes as he turned to face the wall. Kurapika grit his teeth as he started peeling off his layers. Leorio yawned loudly and stretched, the muscles and long, lean lines of his torso shifting under his shirt, and Kurapika almost fell off the exam table. It took several minutes for Kurapika to finally peel his shirt from his frame and adjust his hat and mask so his face was still obscured. 

“Alright, I’m good,” Kurapika said, and Leorio grumbled something as he turned around again. Kurapika watched as Leorio’s gaze swept over him, analytical and professional as a doctor should be. It was not the way Kurapika would have wanted Leorio to look at him when he imagined this kind of situation, but then again, nothing in the past several months had gone anything like how Kurapika hoped. 

Leorio was eyeing him, head tilted inquisitively to the side as he caught sight of his sports bra. Kurapika snapped acerbically, “What?” 

“In my head I’ve been using ‘he’ to refer to you,” Leorio told him. “Is that right?” 

“Yes, asshole, now stop worrying about my fucking pronouns and check my ribs,” Kurapika snapped. Something shifted and he winced sharply, his breath catching. 

“Quit moving,” Leorio said as he approached. “This is going to hurt. Keep still, okay?” 

Kurapika swallowed thickly and nodded. He tried not to stiffen as Leorio reached for him. It was probably not a good sign that the hands that burned Kurapika through three layers of clothing that morning (had it been only that long?) now felt wonderfully cool against the swollen, flushed skin. Kurapika looked down to watch Leorio work and saw the way his nitrile gloves pressed against skin that was eggplant purple and wine red. His stomach and sides were a mottled mess of bruises in the shapes of boots and fists. 

Leorio pressed down on the spot that throbbed the most, and Kurapika choked on a hiss of pain. Leorio met his gaze. “You don’t need to save face, Chain. I know how much broken ribs hurt.” 

“Oh?” Kurapika asked through gritted teeth. “Got a story there?” 

“Hm,” Leorio hummed, non-committal. He was quiet for a few minutes as he finished palpating Kurapika’s abdomen. “Good news: your ribs are cracked, not broken. Bad news: you have three of them.” 

Kurapika snorted. “Fantastic.” 

Leorio did not reply as he pressed his stethoscope to Kurapika’s chest and back. After a minute or two, he said, “Alright, your breathing sounds good. I can’t hear or feel anything that makes me too worried, and this is the best I can do here with the materials I have. If I recommended you go to a hospital to get an x-ray just to check on things, you wouldn’t do it, would you?” 

“No,” Kurapika confessed. “I am much too busy.” 

“Oh yeah?” Leorio asked. He went to a cupboard and pulled out stacks of gauze and lengths of bandages. “And what does the notorious vigilante do for a day job? Horse jockey? Stunt double?” 

Kurapika laughed and winced in the same movement. Leorio shot him a look. “Stop laughing.” 

“Stop being funny.” 

“Can’t. I’m too charming.” 

Kurapika opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn’t think of anything that would be appropriate as a reply. Anything he had to say would be too flirty or too honest for their non-existent relationship. So he changed the subject. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Which one?” Leorio asked. He went to another cabinet and pulled out some ice packs that he crushed to start the chemical reaction. Kurapika swallowed as he watched Leorio’s fingers move. 

“Your story,” Kurapika said. He watched Leorio’s shoulders still. “You’ve had broken ribs before. So you’ve got me beaten there.” 

Leorio dodged the question, passing him the ice pack and instructing, “Press this to your side. I want the swelling to go down some before I wrap you up.” Kurapika accepted the pack and complied, using some gauze to wrap the pack and keep it from touching his skin directly. The cold felt wonderful against the swollen muscle. Leorio went on, “Story for a story, Chain?” 

“That curious about me?” Kurapika asked. 

“Of course I am,” Leorio scoffed. “Everyone is. Not sure how you can live in this city and not know what a household name you are.” 

“I try not to get too big a head about it,” Kurapika said instead of admitting that he was too busy to eat and sleep properly most days, let alone listen to any speculation about his civilian identity. 

“So humble,” Leorio said. His eyes glowed behind his glasses in the low lights. “So. Do we have a deal?” 

Kurapika sighed. Not like he was going anywhere anytime soon. “Deal. I’ll tell you anything.” 

_Fuck,_ he was in too deep. How did he think that this might be a good idea? He was playing with fire here, and it wasn’t going to just singe him if he lost control. It could burn down everything Kurapika cared about, which was damnably difficult when he suddenly realized that included more than two people now. Leorio’s eyes widened in surprise before his cheeks darkened in a blush. 

“Alright, Chain,” Leorio said. He stood up and gently tugged the ice pack from his side. “I’ve been wondering, along with everyone else in the city - why do you do this? What’s your end goal?” 

“Those are very big questions,” Kurapika said. His voice was lower than it should have been. Leorio met his eyes. 

“You’re doing a very big thing,” he said honestly. He held up the bandages. “I’ll wrap, you talk.” 

“Please don’t rap while I’m speaking.” 

Leorio laughed, surprised and delighted. “That was a terrible joke! I love it.” 

Kurapika gathered his thoughts as Leorio started to wrap his ribs. To his credit, Leorio did not push as he waited to hear the story. It was difficult for Kurapika to focus when the wrapping motions meant that Leorio kept needing to put his arms around his torso, gloved hands brushing his bare skin and his body so warm. 

But eventually, Kurapika started speaking. Softly, he told Leorio about the hate crime committed against his family. The fear and prejudice against the Kurta people for the genetic anomaly that changed their eye color to scarlet when highly emotional. The day someone decided that they hated the Kurta family down the street enough to do something about it. The night they broke into the shop and doused it with kerosene to ruin the clothes, made their way up the stairs, and slaughtered anyone who got in their way. Kurta families were large and close-knit; multiple generations often lived together. Kurapika’s grandmother had been cool and calm as she instructed a ten-year-old Kurapika to hide under the bed. The only thing that gave away her true feelings was the ruby-red sheen in her eyes. 

The way the police were callous and cold when a trembling Kurapika finally crawled out of his hiding space, toed through the house, and called for help. The way they only gave Kurapika five minutes to pack up his belongings before they took him to the station. The way they questioned him and demanded he share every gruesome detail he recalled for their official report. The way they eyed one another as Kurapika described exactly what the man who had killed his family looked like. 

The way Kurapika’s world stopped turning when the very tired, very nice, very sad social worker in his group home pulled him aside and informed him that none of it mattered, because the district attorney had elected not to prosecute the case. 

Kurapika’s voice shuddered when he shared that part of it. He had never told anyone about the day that his life truly shattered, because not only was everything gone, but the people he had trusted to put what was left of his world to rights failed him. So Kurapika threw himself into his studies, forgoing anything that would not get him closer to his goal of becoming an attorney and forcing change from within. He needed to make things right, to oust the man who propped up the system that had failed him. 

Except when he finally graduated and took his position in the attorney’s office, it was to find that the corruption infected even the marrow of the city’s legal structure. It dripped off nearly every prosecutor, every investigator, every police officer he came into contact with. Kurapika could only sit back and watch as he was powerless to stop shady deals and unethical practices. But in order to climb, to muscle his way into an Assistant Direct Attorney’s position and sit at the right hand of The Spider, Kurapika needed to become the very thing he loathed so much. 

But even that, _even that,_ was not enough. Not the man who killed his family dying when Kurpaika was fifteen, and he didn’t even know until he looked up the man in their records. Not his friendship with fellow attorney Melody. Not the integrity of Detectives Mizai and Morel. Not the muckraking, hard-hitting investigative writing of Bisky. Nothing changed, and nothing was _going_ to change, if Kurapika kept going by the book. 

So he stopped going by the book. 

“And… well, I suppose you know the rest.” Kurapika finished somewhat lamely as Leorio finished bandaging his torso. His cracked ribs were carefully wrapped, and Leorio had moved on to sanitizing and patching up the numerous cuts and placing salve on the bruises that peppered his body. 

“I guess I do,” Leorio said. His tone was carefully neutral as he stood up to get more bandages. Kurapika frowned slightly as he watched the doctor move, collecting more supplies and returning to his perch. While Kurapika hardly expected or hoped Leorio would leap into his arms or confess his undying love and compassion for him following this story, he confessed he was hoping for a little something… more. 

“Something wrong?” Kurapika asked. He held his left arm out for Leorio to start the long task of cleaning his cuts and placing salve on his bruises. The air smelled of antiseptic and peppermint from the salve. 

“Nothing,” Leorio said. “I’m just thinking.” He was quiet for a few more moments, and then he looked up from his work. “I wonder. Are you looking for revenge, Chain, or do you feel guilty for surviving?” 

It took several seconds for Kurapika to process the question. It was asked with such thoughtfulness, without judgement, and yet… something about it set Kurapika’s metaphorical hackles rising. He clenched his jaw and lifted his chin to meet Leorio’s gaze head-on. With the added height of the exam table, Kurapika was for once at Leorio’s eye level. 

“What’s the difference?” Kurapika asked, his voice equally low. “A bit of column A, a bit of column B. Of course I feel _guilty_ for surviving. So why wouldn’t I want revenge for that? Why wouldn’t I use every tool at my disposal to get back at the people who refused to go after the man who killed my family?” 

“Why indeed,” Leorio said. He dabbed at a few cuts that lined Kurapika’s forearms. The tension in his face was the only indicator that he was not as unaffected as he appeared. “I don’t fault you for your anger or for wanting revenge. But is this - the vigilantism, the sneaking around, getting your ass kicked at two o’clock in the morning - really all because you’re looking for your own revenge? Revealing corruption, uncovering illegal deals, all that shit - it’s all just a means to your own ends? Is that really what you’re looking for out of this?” 

“As opposed to what?” Kurapika demanded, his tone acidic. 

“As opposed to doing it because it’s the right thing to do,” Leorio snapped back. “Doing it because no one else will. Doing it because nothing changes if nothing changes, so you’re going to force that change. Doing it for the people who can’t.” 

Kurapika’s mouth worked behind his mask, opening and closing and trying to find something to say. Leorio only stared back, spine straight and resolute, and finally Kurapika found the word to describe the heavy look the doctor was giving him in this exam room. 

Kurapika found his words and he said frigidly, “I’ve done what I’ve done and there’s no turning back, so I can only go forward on this path. I’m not here for a lecture, so I don’t know why you’re acting like this is some kind of letdown. Like you’re _disappointed_ in me.” 

Leorio had the gall to _roll his eyes_ and audibly groan. “Don’t give me that sunk-cost fallacy bullshit. We’ve all got trauma. In my line of work, it’s impossible to meet someone who doesn’t. And I’m all for your vigilante shit because everyone in my neck of the woods thinks this -” he indicated the bevy of injuries he was patching up even as he tore into Kurapika “- is about sticking it to the man, but, yeah, honestly? Finding out this is about your quest for revenge is a bit disappointing.” 

“And what if it’s both?” Kurapika snarled. 

“Humans are complicated,” Leorio said. “I’d be more surprised if it _wasn’t_ a bit of both. But I gotta ask, Chain, and you don’t need to answer this if you don’t want to, or don’t know the answer… what happens when all of this is over? That you take down the dirty cops and lawyers and shit? Do you ride off into the night on some badass motorcycle, never to be seen again? Do you go back to your day job as a firefighter or beat cop or whatever it is you do?” 

_What happens when all of this is over?_ The question had the same undertones as Melody’s observation years ago: _if healing and closure is what you seek, Kurapika, I don’t know if you will find it on this road._

“What else is there?” Kurapika asked dully in lieu of actually considering an answer. What did one do when they tore down the entirety of a corrupt system? Would he stay to build it into something better? Would he even have that right? Would he stay to help the Zoldyck children? Would they even want him around, once their deal was completed? Or would they leave Yorknew and its ghosts forever? 

All of Kurapika’s relationships were based on work and his quest for revenge. When that finished, wouldn’t they all simply scatter to the winds to continue about their lives? Would he truly be all alone again? The thought was… horrifying. Agonizing. Lonely. 

“I dunno,” Leorio said softly. He finished the wrapping on Kurapika’s left arm and ran his hands over the bandage, checking for lumps or imperfections. He was so gentle that Kurapika felt his defensive irritation dissipate in spite of himself. “I’m still figuring that out myself, to be honest. What comes after all the bad things. I guess that’s the beauty of life and all. You get to decide that for yourself.” 

Kurapika stared. How did this man _do that?_ Annoy and rile him in one breath, then casually upend Kurpaika’s entire worldview in the next? He coughed to clear his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “You do realize, of course, that nothing I say here can leave this room.” 

“Oh, please,” Leorio scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Like I would. First, even if you’re not _officially_ my patient, I’m still bound by ethics laws not to disclose anything here. I take my oath seriously, unlike half the rest of this city. Second, who would I even tell? My boss? The barista I’m about to adopt? That sexy lawyer at the coffee shop?” 

_That sexy lawyer at the coffee shop._ Kurapika choked on air. “I - I beg pardon?” 

Leorio did not notice his panic, thank god. He was too busy rooting through the cabinets for more bruise salve. “What? Cheadle has her hands full keeping this place running. The barista is a good kid looking for his shitty father. I’ll deck him in the face if I ever get a chance. You might want to shred him to bits while you’re in business, Chain. And yeah, the sexy lawyer is hot and clever and all, but I imagine he’s pretty busy with… lawyer things. You probably don’t want him on your tail, Chain.” 

_What do you mean you think I’m sexy and hot and clever,_ Kurapika wanted to demand. He also wished he could actually melt into a puddle on the floor to escape this conversation. There was no way Leorio would speak so candidly about this subject if he knew who Bloody Chain really was. Kurapika’s heart was racing so fast he felt light-headed. 

Leorio caught him gaping and lifted an eyebrow. “You alright? Feeling dizzy?” 

“No,” Kurapika said immediately. He forced his voice not to shake through only extreme force of will. “I just… I confess, I was not expecting that response. I haven’t told anyone this before.” 

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Leorio picked up a cotton swab and dipped it in antiseptic. Bringing it to the cuts along Kurapika’s right arm, he went on, “I’m sorry for what I said to you. That was uncalled for. We all deal with our own shit differently. It’s not my place to judge, especially as a doctor.” 

“It’s alright. Like you said, we all deal with our issues differently,” Kurapika murmured. Leorio glanced up to meet his eyes, as if gauging his sincerity. Kurapika only held his gaze, showing him that he was being honest. Something in Leorio’s expression softened, and he smiled at Kurapika. The motion was heart-wrenching, bittersweet. It was one of the most beautiful and genuine things he had ever seen. 

Leorio chuckled. “I guess we do.” 

He worked in silence for a few more minutes. Kurapika found himself lulled into an odd sort of contentment as they sat in silence. He was not one who found silence stifling or awkward, but this… this was nice. Companionable. At last, Kurapika said, “I believe it is your turn to share a story, Leorio.” 

A quiet scoff. “I hoped you would forget.” 

“I can, if you like,” Kurapika said, just to watch the way Leorio’s eyes wrinkled in a laugh he was too tired to express. “I’m sure I got knocked around on the head a bit. We can just blame that.” 

Leorio stopped his bandaging immediately. Scowling, he demanded, “Wait, really? And that wasn’t the _first_ thing you told me?” 

“I was more worried about breathing,” Kurapika reminded him. “And my head feels much better now.” 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Chain,” Leorio groaned. He buried his face in his hands, swore, ripped off his gloves to get a new pair. “I’ll check for a concussion after this, then, just to be sure. And I don’t mind sharing my story with you. It’s not a secret.” 

“Very well,” Kurapika conceded. He nodded to show Leorio that he had the floor for as long as he wanted it. 

Leorio was quiet at first. It seemed he, too, was gathering his thoughts. Finally, he started to speak: “I told you I grew up around the docks. It’s a bad area. Really bad. We were a big family, super poor, ma and pop working day and night to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, you get the picture. Even so, we were lucky in comparison. Never had any accidents, never got laid at the same time, the worst illness we ever got was some really bad bouts of the flu. But I knew a lot of people who got sick who couldn’t pay for it. Who lost their jobs and then their homes. If they were desperate enough to turn to the loan sharks, the debt collectors took them for all they were worth. The ‘neighborhood watch’ - basically street gangs - took the rest.” 

Leorio set down the cotton ball and started to bandage Kurapika’s hands. Soft white bandages rolled over and between his fingers as he went on, “It was easy for a kid to grow angry, bitter, hopeless. I wanted a better life for my family and myself, and for a long time I thought the only way to get it was to fight for it. Crime runs rampant in this city, as you know. A buddy of mine, we fell in with a rough crowd. Rough crowds have a tendency to find trouble. Or when they can’t find it, they make it.” 

Leorio stepped away and lifted the hem of his shirt. Kurapika just barely managed not to make a squawk of surprise at the sudden expanse of warm tanned skin on display, the outline of muscles in his abdomen. Belatedly he realized Leorio was showing him an old, shiny pink scar on his side, jagged and nearly three inches long. 

“...got this from one of a couple scraps. There’s more, too, but that’s the biggest one,” Leorio was telling him. He dropped his hem and resumed bandaging Kurapika’s arm. “But the problem with a couple of hot headed kids who think they’re invincible is that eventually they’re gonna find out they’re not.” Leorio sighed. His eyes were very sad and very distant as he explained, “Pietro and I got in a fight. He got killed. I got away. It took a long, long time to forgive myself for that. 

“And after that, I guess I realized… I didn’t want to live for my anger anymore. That wasn’t sustainable. I didn’t want to be someone who people were scared to pass in the street or who people shied away from when I went into stores or whatever.” Leorio sighed. He finished wrapping Kurapika’s right arm and checked the bandages. Kurapika wondered if he knew he was doing much more slowly this time, his touch gentle and lingering and burning through the bandaging. “I didn’t want to be the man I was becoming if I went down that road. So I tried to turn myself around. Went back to school, caught up, studied. Worked two jobs and scraped by on scholarships. I wanted to change my community, but I needed to change myself, first.” 

Leorio stepped back. The absence of his warmth made Kurapika feel like he had just been shoved out into the cold. “This isn’t me… lecturing you, or whatever. I don’t mean it that way. I don’t know what I mean, I think? It’s just…” 

“...You know how it feels,” Kurapika finished for him. Leorio met his gaze from where he was tossing out his used bandages and cotton swabs. The air was thick with tension and the scent of antiseptic. “You know how it feels to feel angry and powerless and scared. To see something wrong and want to do something about it.” 

Leorio shrugged. “I guess I do, yeah.” He stepped closer to Kurapika again. “I want to check your head while you’re here. You look like you have a cut somewhere on your scalp, but I’m guessing you don’t want to take off the hat so I can see?” 

“No,” Kurapika confirmed with a wry twist of his lips. “You guess correctly.” 

“Oh, well,” Leorio said with a shrug. He pulled up a pen light. “Alright, I’m going to check your eyes.” 

Kurapika sat helplessly as Leorio approached him, setting one hand on his shoulder while the other held the pen light aloft. He worried what Leorio might see when he came this close. Could he hear Kurapika’s heart thundering in his chest? Could he see the way his eyes were flickering behind the dark contact lenses? Could he _feel_ the way Kurapika’s entire being gravitated towards this kind, sad, healing, _good_ man? 

Kurapika had known that his infatuation with Leorio up until now was half-based in fantasy. They knew so little of each other; romantic fantasy was the only reason Kurapika could have felt this much for a virtual stranger he’d never even spoken to until a month ago. Any mental image Kurapika could have created for him would have glaring holes and inconsistencies with the real narrative, and despite his crush Kurapika had known that the pedestal he internally constructed for Leorio would not hold up to the reality.

In many ways, it did not. The pedestal came crumbling down, and in its place something else was erected. Something messier, but something genuine and real. Because how could Kurapika _not_ find something to adore in Leorio’s earnest effort to become a better man? How could he not care for a man who chose to be kind in a world where so many others chose to be cruel? How could Kurapika not start to fall in love with a man who had been dealt a shitty hand in life and chosen to give back more than he was given anyway?

And how could Kurapika sit here with him, alone in the dark in the middle of the night, sharing the soul-deep ache and exhaustion that lived under his skin and ask this man to make his burden just a little lighter? Did Kurapika even deserve to sit here and soak up the doctor’s light like a withered houseplant?

“Chain?” Leorio said, and Kurapika started. He blinked himself from his fugue as Leorio went on, “Still with me?”

_I will never be with you,_ Kurapika suddenly knew. _The realization froze him to his core. I can work to better myself for a hundred years and I will never deserve to be with a man like you._

“Yes,” Kurapika said, because he was not going to be that dramatic out loud. “Did you find anything?”

“Actually, nothing,” Leorio deadpanned. “There is absolutely nothing between your ears. Just a tumbleweed.”

Kurapika snorted and his ribs throbbed. “Shit. Stop being _funny.”_

“I already said, I can’t do that,” Leorio explained. “Your pupils are equal and reactive, if a bit dilated. If that doesn’t change you may want to check that out, but the room is dim so I expected that.” Nevermind that eye dilation was a surefire means to determine if someone was attracted to another person such as, say, the doctor examining them. “Alright, I’ve done all that I can here. I’m going to send you to your batcave with some bandages to change your wrappings. I’d send you home with some stronger pain meds, but that will create a paper trail I’m assuming you want to avoid. Over-the-counter meds should take the edge off, but if your pain increases, you have difficulty breathing, or you spike a fever, call me again. Take care of any other cuts or bruises you have that you won’t let me see. Come back and see me in a week for a follow-up, and don’t you dare try and pay me for this. And take the day off of work tomorrow.”

Kurapika looked up at him sharply. He would find _some_ way to pay Leorio back for all of this, the man’s insistence be damned. He refused to be in anyone’s debt, whether that person would come to collect or not. But his more immediate concern was that last order. “I can’t do that.”

“What _job_ do you have that you can’t take off work after getting a beatdown?” Leorio demanded. _“Are_ you really a cop?” His eyes widened. “Do you work _retail?”_

“No,” Kurapika hissed, because dammit to hell Leorio was _so funny, damn him, his ribs were throbbing._ “I just...cannot. I will need to make excuses for this, and I will fall behind in work, and…”

“Okay, so, not retail,” Leorio agreed. “As for excuses, car accidents or falling down stairs can work for those injuries. Preferably a car accident, but since we live in the city, I imagine you may not have a car. You can also give a half-truth and say you got mugged.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Kurapika said wearily. He stood upright and started to put his clothes back on. His sides protested the movement as he tried to tug his shirt over his head.

“Alright, come here,” Leorio ordered. He stepped over the Kurapika and helped him pull the hem over his head. Kurapika stiffened from the sudden proximity, but Leorio was careful with the hem and necklines to prevent his hat and mask from slipping, and he stepped away once the shirt was on. He was there a few moments later with Kurapika’s leather jacket, gently tugging it up to Kurapika’s shoulders.

Finally, eventually, they were ready to leave. Leorio threw out the last of their trash and shut the door. He led them through the dark lobby again. Kurapika watched his back, studied the way the lights shone through the windows. They hit along the angles of Leorio’s face, sharpening the curve of his jawline and nose.

“Leorio,” Kurapika breathed. The doctor stopped and turned to him, peering down at him with a quizzical brow raised. He had not meant to say his name aloud, nor in such a _tone,_ soft and appreciative and yearning. He had never said another’s name like that.

Then again, Kurapika had never met a man like Leorio Paladiknight. He never would again, he was sure. He did not want to.

He swallowed thickly. “Thank you again for this. I… I truly appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”

Leorio grinned down at Kurapika with that beautiful, crooked grin of his. Kurapika wondered if he was imagining that blush to his cheeks in this dark clinic lobby. “I haven’t done much, just some bandaging. You could have done the same, I’m sure.”

“Not so well,” Kurapika argued. Why did this man insist on refusing credit and appreciation at every turn? It was maddening. He wanted to argue about it until Leorio understood that he was truly a one-of-a-kind man. He wanted to kiss him about it.

Leorio laughed softly. And then he stepped closer. For a horrible, mortifying moment, Kurapika feared he had said his thoughts out loud. That terror only grew when Leorio reached towards him. Kurapika imagined phantom hands on his hips, drawing him in; phantom hands tugging at his mask, his hair; phantom lips against his, kissing him and kissing him until he forgot his own name. He wanted that so badly his head spun.

“You flatter me, Chain,” Leorio said. His hands found the zipper of Kurapika’s jacket. He fastened it and gently slid it up until it stopped just under Kurapika’s chin. His fingers lingered there, inches from Kurapika’s skin. If Leorio were to touch him, he could have felt his racing pulse and known exactly the effect that he had on him.

Yorknew’s vigilante, brought to heel by the mere touch of a free clinic doctor.

“Don’t want you to catch a cold,” Leorio said with a wink. He stepped back and indicated for Kurapika to step outside. “Oh, by the way, have you gotten your flu shot yet?”

The _yet_ gave Kurapika pause as he stood on the cold sidewalk, watching Leorio lock the door behind them. Twin feelings of fear and anticipation warred in his stomach. Did Leorio know? Did he suspect? His expression was open, casually curious, genuinely concerned.

No, Kurapika decided. No, Leorio had no idea who he really was.

~

Kurapika did not take the day off of work.

He _wanted_ to. Dear god did he want to; his entire body was stiff and sore and felt like one giant bruise (because it was). He was grateful he lived alone in his little studio apartment because when he woke up and tried to move he _absolutely_ yelled in pain.

But Kurapika knew that they were uncomfortably close to the fire in this case. With every day that went by, the clock ticked down in their race against time. Who would come out on top first - Chrollo and his cronies, or Kurapika and the detectives? There wasn’t _time_ for Kurapika to stay at home and ice his wounds, to take the day off and heal. Whoever had tailed and attacked him would be looking for someone in their realm to call out and lay low for a few weeks.

So Kurapika got up in the morning, iced his ribs, and downed altogether too many over-the-counter meds. He thanked any deity might be listening that he did not have court that day. He went to work and was on time for his 7:30 meeting despite the fact that he was exhausted and he felt like death, and he smiled at his client and finished their deposition and then when they were done he locked up his office to concentrate and maybe cry from the pain, just a little. The inside of his cheek was raw from biting it so he wouldn’t make a sound. Eventually he realized that if he just pretended to be a statue and did not move, breathe, or think, he could get through this day just fine.

His phone buzzed with a text sometime around 3:15. His heart drummed a rapid tempo against his bruised ribs when he read Leorio’s name on his caller ID.

_Just checking in, if that’s alright,_ Leorio texted. _How’s the pain?_

Kurapika wanted to bang his head on his desk. This man. This man would be the death of him. He texted back, _I do not mind, although it would be wise not to save these messages. My pain is bearable._

_So you feel horrible and definitely went into work?_

Kurapika bit back a laugh. _Guilty as charged._

_It’s going to take longer to heal if you don’t rest, you know,_ Leorio messaged.

_I do,_ Kurapika replied. Please don’t misunderstand. _I value your medical opinion and expertise. There are other matters I must consider, however._

_How terrifyingly vague,_ Leorio wrote. _It’s ok. You’re doing what you have to do. I trust that._

_How?_ Kurapika wrote before he could stop himself. How could Leorio trust Chain like this? He didn’t know Chain’s face. He didn’t even know his _name._

_I just do,_ Leorio wrote back. _Like how you trusted me even though you don’t know me._

_But I do,_ Kurapika wanted to write back, to say, to yell. He did, he _did_ know Leorio, and the more he knew the more he wanted to learn. He wanted to learn everything about this man, bring him into every aspect of his life, and there was absolutely nothing Kurapika could do about it because he brought this man into the line of fire with every text and every cup of coffee. But he was too weak to stay away.

The next week passed in much the same way. Kurapika would go into work even though his entire body hurt. He confessed to Melody what happened, and while she was horrified and angry at him for showing up for work _(Kurapika, do you have a death wish? Do you want me to lose the rest of my hair? Because I am going to yank it out and it will be because of you. No, don’t you argue with me. Sit down and I am bringing you water)_ , she backed him up anyway.

So. Melody kept Kurapika from injuring himself again. Leorio texted him every few days to check in. When he finally went back to the coffee shop, over a week after the attack, able to walk without growing too winded or wanting to double over in pain, Leorio met his gaze and beamed so widely Kurapika forgot his morning order.

“Morning!” Leorio greeted brightly. “It’s been a while! I was worried you’d found yourself another shop.”

Kurapika shook his head. “I did not. I had a series of commitments that interrupted my morning routine, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Leorio said. They placed their orders with a beaming, cheerful Gon and a much more confident Killua and stepped aside to await their drinks. Leorio grinned down at him. “Question.”

“Answer,” Kurapika replied, lifting an eyebrow up at him.

“You referred to your ‘prior commitments that interrupted your routine,’ which is a hell of a mouthful,” Leorio said, making Kurapika sputter out a surprised laugh. “But I’m curious. Does this mean I’m part of your morning routine now?”

Kurapika’s eyes went wide and he immediately looked away from Leorio to anything else in the shop. The drink menu. The line of people almost running out the door. The smirk on Killua’s face as he steamed milk for a latte, because of _course_ he was eavesdropping.

“That is,” Kurapika started. He was - was this - was Leorio _flirting_ with him? The shop was too crowded and warm. He had to clench his fists lest he reach up to tug nervously at his shirt collar or tie. “This coffee shop is part of my routine. You also come to this coffee shop. Ergo, you are also part of my morning routine.”

“Ah,” Leorio said, grinning widely. “Naturally. I thought I’d ask, for future reference, if you wanted to exchange numbers?” Kurapika said nothing as he gaped up at Leorio like a lovesick fool. Or just an idiot. Leorio’s eyes glittered behind his glasses as he added, “If, you know. Your morning routine is disrupted again.”

Oh, this motherfucker was _smooth._ If this were three weeks ago Kurapika would be tripping over himself taking out his phone to exchange numbers with Leorio. Now he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, because he absolutely wanted Leorio to know that he _absolutely_ wanted his phone number, and a whole lot more, except they couldn’t actually exchange numbers because _Leorio already had it,_ just saved under the wrong name.

“I -” Kurapika stammered. “I - that is, I -”

“Krapika,” came Killua’s voice, calling out a bastardization of his name, because Killua was a baby bastard asshole. And Kurapika was _so fucking grateful_ for it he just turned and snatched the cups of mocha and earl grey, shooting Killua a look that reminded him of their joint agreement of _mutually assured destruction._

“Um,” Kurapika said, staring up at Leorio like he was the sun, unable to meet his gaze because he was too much to look at head-on. “I - I’d like to, I just - I’m afraid I have to get to work, and -”

“Carry on with your routine,” Leorio said. The easy smile on his face did not move a jot. Kurapika wondered if that made it better or worse. Leorio most likely meant that as friends. Adults made friends after they turned thirty, allegedly. And yes, sometimes they met them at coffee shops like a rom-com meet-cute, but where else was he going to find friends? In another universe this wouldn’t have been such a huge deal, except in this universe Kurapika was a lawyer/vigilante with half a city chasing him down and a massive fucking crush on a very hot, very sweet doctor.

Or, Leorio was actually interested in him, and Kurapika was about to fuck that all up. Which had to be better in the long run. Because if Leorio wasn’t in his life, then he would be safer. Leorio would go on with his life and move on and find someone else to smile at like that, to fill the morning crossword with. To add to his morning routine.

“Yes,” Kurapika agreed helplessly. _Yes, I need to get to work. Yes, you can have my phone number, except don’t freak out, but you already have it. Yes, you are part of my routine now. Yes, I want you in my life._

“Of course,” Leorio said. He smiled at Kurapika, sending him that two-fingered salute. “Have a good day, then.” He glanced at the name on his cup. “Krapika.”

Kurapika scrunched his nose up in a smile and left. He tucked his chin into his collar and made the three-block walk back to the office under a slate-gray sky. A cold wind blew through the October streets as the season’s first flurries floated around him.

~

“I have a proposal,” Killua announced at dinner that Friday night. When had Friday nights become a combination case review/pseudo-family dinner? Kurapika wasn’t sure. All he knew was that after the first few weeks of investigations, he and the detectives had realized that they did their best work when they met once a week to review what they had with the kids. Somehow, along the way, that had morphed into...this.

“Let’s hear it,” said. He put more salad on his plate and passed the bowl to Mizai. Morel put a much more sizeable portion on his plate, which was to be expected of the vegetarian.

Killua poked his potatoes around his plate with his fork. “I have this… friend.”

“Oh my _god,”_ Alluka and Nanika started. Killua glared them into silence.

“Go on,” Morel encouraged.

“He’s _just_ a friend. But… I haven’t had a ton of friends, so.” Killua shrugged his bony shoulders and took a massive bite of his food. He made a face, which was either from the fact that it was healthy or from Nanika kicking him under the table.

“That’s great, kiddo,” Morel said. “But I’m still not sure where this proposal of yours comes in.”

Killua ducked his chin. Through his mouthful, he mumbled, “Iwantedtointroducehimtomyfamily.”

The bedlam erupted immediately. Alluka and Nanika yelled _“yoooooo!”_ as one; Morel and Mizai lifted their right brows together like they were brothers instead of work partners of thirty years; Amane and Canary subtly exchanged a twenty across the table, Amane looking annoyed and Canary smug; Kalluto took advantage of the chaos to to give the rest of their fish to Sergeant Pupper. Kurapika sent them a disapproving look, and they only smiled and ducked their head to eat their vegetables.

Kurapika cleared his throat and the clamor died down at once. Except then the adults were all sending Kurapika that raised-eyebrow stare. He felt himself going red over his cheeks and primly wiped his mouth. “Your proposal, Killua?”

Killua swallowed. “I, uh. He’s cool, okay? He’s a friend. I trust him. I mean, I haven’t told him anything about all of this. Just that I’m taking classes and living with my siblings. I just… I know it’s not much, but the others haven’t been out of the house in a while, and he really wants to meet you all…”

“I think that’s a great idea, Killua,” Morel said magnanimously. “Talk it over with your protective detail, and I don’t see a problem with that.”

Killua nodded quickly and glanced at Kurapika. “Will, ah, you come, too, Kurapika?”

In retrospect, Kurapika should have said no. He should have taken a full twenty-four hours to rest and relax and sleep and _maybe,_ if he was feeling particularly wild, drink a glass of water. Perhaps with some lemon.

But _no,_ Kurapika wanted to make these kids happy and keep them safe, so he found himself acquiescing. Which was why at six o’clock in the evening at the end of a long, relaxing Saturday when Kurapika did absolutely nothing (perhaps for the first time in his life, which was a… Fascinating experience, to be honest), he found himself standing, once again, in the waiting area of the 420 East Main combination KFC/Taco Bell/Pizza Hut. He was in his one pair of jeans and a turtleneck, and he really just felt like a dad when he approached the back booth where the four Zoldyck siblings were waiting. As he walked, he caught the eye of Canary and Amane, who were enjoying a low-budget date night courtesy of Killua’s idea of fine dining.

“Kurapika!” Nanika greeted cheerfully. “You came!”

“I said I would,” Kurapika said, nonplussed. “So here I am.”

“Still,” Alluka said. “We were excited to get to see you more. And somewhere where you can think about something other than our case!”

“Oh?” Kurapika asked, confused. “I would have thought you wanted me to be thinking about your case.”

“You’re always thinking of us,” Kalluto observed. “It’s obvious. You check in on us and ask how we’re doing. You’re going out on a limb for us, personally and professionally. It means a lot.” They scraped their nail over sticky table residue. “We haven’t had a lot of adults looking out for us.”

For the second time that month, there was a warm feeling welling up Kurapika’s throat, expanding and smothering his lungs and squeezing his heart. It was not the same feeling he got when he saw Leorio that night with his mugger, but it was similar. It was protective, caring. He was so touched he didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands.

“Oh,” Kurapika murmured. He sensed the siblings looking at each other sidelong. “I… thank you.”

They were spared from the need to make any further conversation when there was a loud, eager shout of, “Killua!”

And a green-and-suntanned ball of sunshine and energy appeared over Killua’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck from behind. Killua went stiff and red-cheeked at the contact, but he didn’t do anything more than glare at his siblings in an unspoken warning _not_ to embarrass him. They responded to this in their usual fashion: Nanika and Alluka sharing identical grins, and Kalluto whipping out their phone and blatantly photographing the scene.

“It’s so good to see you!” Gon was chattering happily. He dragged a chair over to sit at the head of the table. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week! Are these your siblings? And - oh! Kurapika from the shop! I wasn’t expecting to see you here, hello!”

“Gon, where did you get to - oh.”

And then Kurapika’s brain completely went off the rails, because there was Leorio in this restaurant, standing in the eye of the hurricane of intrigue that he had no idea was raging around him. Leorio, in jeans and a sweater that clung to his form and _fuck, fuck, fuck._

The siblings were eyeing the space between the doctor and lawyer with intrigue. Killua and Gon met each others’ gaze, their faces inches apart, and they shared matching grins of mischief. Gon released Killua, who set his hair to rights and made the necessary introductions.

“... And Kurapika, who you know,” Killua explained. “He’s my family’s caseworker.”

“Like a social worker?” Gon asked.

“Sure,” Killua said. He stood up. “C’mon, let’s eat!”

The kids rushed off to let themselves loose on the retail workers, leaving Kurapika and Leorio to stand awkwardly in the seating area. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika sensed Amane and Canary eyeing him with rapt curiosity.

“Uhm,” Kurapika started. “I was not expecting to see you.”

“Same,” Leorio said. Quickly he amended, “I’m not disappointed or anything, mind you, I just…”

“No, I know,” Kurapika said. He smiled a bit. “Me, too.”

Leorio met his gaze, looking a bit apprehensive. Then he grinned back, shoulders loosening. “Great. Here, let’s sit, give the kids some space.”

That was completely fine with Kurapika. He followed Leorio’s lead and sat across from him at a two-person table. Leorio started, “I’m assuming this was Killua’s idea?”

“Of course it was,” Kurapika confirmed. “Why, do you think _I_ suggested it?”

“Yep,” Leorio said. At Kurapika’s insulted expression, he laughed. “What? Student loans make fools of us all. I’ve had my own share of sad fast-food meals when I was too tired to cook.”

Kurapika eyed him consideringly. “Dollar-menu fries and a coupon for a frosty.”

Leorio snorted. “Two free tacos with a coupon.”

“Fine,” Kurapika conceded, laughing. “You win.”

His healing ribs twinged in pain from the motion. He clenched his jaw, reflexively bringing his hand to his side. Leorio followed the motion with eyes like a hawk.

“You alright?”

“I - yes,” Kurapika said quickly. “I’m fine, I just fell… off of… a library ladder.”

He almost winced from the obvious, awkward slip. He had nearly given Leorio’s “fell down the stairs” excuse to him, _the man who told him to use it._ But Leorio only nodded sagely.

“I see. I’m glad you’re alright.” He leaned back, one arm slung over the back of his chair. Kurapika took the opportunity to watch the line of Leorio’s jaw and throat, study the width of his shoulders. Leorio asked, “Are you going to eat?”

“No,” Kurapika said instantly. Leorio chortled at his automatic reply. “What? I don’t trust fast food. And I would have thought that as a doctor you would have decried its lack of nutritional value.”

“Because I am a doctor that recognizes the importance of _moderation,”_ Leorio said. “And also the low prices of fast food make it possible for low-income families to eat on a budget, so I’m not going to look down on that. Sure, in ideal circumstances don’t eat it every day, but we don’t all have that luxury.” A beat. “Also I want nachos and I wondered if you wanted to share.”

Another beat. Kurapika swore he heard Amane snickering four tables away. “Sure.”

“Excellent,” Leorio said. “Any food restrictions?”

“No,” Kurapika admitted, and he watched Leorio as he walked away. A few moments later his phone lit up with an incoming text.

It was Canary, and the only thing the message said was, 👀 _???_

_Officer,_ was all Kurapika replied. His warning tone managed to leak through the single word, because there was no reply. He ignored the two officers laughing to themselves about something that was certainly not related to Kurapika’s current predicament, and he turned his attention back to the Zoldyck siblings and Gon as they returned to their booth. He blinked.

“That is… a literally incredible amount of food,” he observed, taking in the full trays the children held aloft. It looked like this time, both Killua _and_ Gon had gotten one of everything in this store. Trailing after them was Alluka and Nanika, who had napkins and Taco Bell sauce packets to support an army, and Kalluto, who held a neon-green slushie so large they needed to use both of their hands. “Kalluto, is that an extra, _extra_ large?”

“What, this?” Kalluto asked, as if Kurapika could have been referring to literally anything else. “This is the family Baja Blast.”

And that was _so adorable_ that Kurapika couldn’t argue, and _so funny_ Kurapika needed to duck his head and bite his lip, because, fuck, he _loved these kids._

Oh, Kurapika realized suddenly, staring at the gray-and-purple vinyl of the table. He really did. He loved those kids. He looked across the walkway to them, taking in the way they sorted through the verifiable trough of food Killua and Gon procured. Kalluto was smiling, and the expression met their eyes. Alluka and Nanika chattered and laughed and finished each others’ sentences and _glowed._ And Killua’s shoulders were loose and relaxed, his body language open, and he looked at Gon like he was the moon in the sky when the other boy was talking to any of the others. For the first time in the weeks since they met, the Zoldycks looked exactly like the children they were. Loud, bickering, happy. Kurapika would do anything it took to keep them that way.

“They’re sweet,” Leorio agreed as he sat across from Kurapika, agreeing with the thoughts he didn’t say aloud. He set down a tray overflowing with stale chips and cheap meat and cheaper cheese. It smelled salty and spicy and, honestly, a little delicious. “Gon’s told me a bit about them.”

“Oh?” Kurapika asked. He reached toward a chip and ate. It was terrible and he immediately took another bite. “What’s he said?” _Please, allow me to take this opportunity to gauge the depths of our security breach._

“Nothing in too much detail,” Leorio said, waving a hand. “Just - hang on, are you good with spice?” He lifted up a handful of orange sauce packets. “This needs a bit of a kick.”

“Oh, excellent, go ahead,” Kurapika said, indicating for Leorio to continue. Leorio grinned at him as he ripped open the “medium” heat taco sauce packets and squeezed them over the chips. “Anyway, all I know is Killua left home and is taking classes at the community college and looking after his three younger siblings. There’s some kind of case going on there.” He shrugged. “Gon thinks it’s some kind of emancipation or CPS thing, and I haven’t corrected him if Killua hasn’t. But if you’re working on this case…” He levied Kurapika with a stare. “It’s clearly more than that.”

Kurapika said nothing as he reached for another chip. After a few moments, Leorio smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Can’t comment on an active case. That’s fine. I just wanted to come by and see them because…”

There was an explosion of noise and hullabaloo at the kids’ table. Kalluto, it seemed, had managed to sneak the entirety of an ultra-spicy taco sauce packet into Killua’s potatoes, and their elder brother was now frantically chugging the “family Baja Blast” to soothe the burn. Gon’s solution was to eat some of the mashed potatoes, which he did not realize _also_ had been spiked with hot sauce, courtesy of one of the girls, so now both boys were chugging water at the drink station. Kurapika gave them some ten or so minutes before they were all banned for life.

“Because?” He prompted Leorio. The doctor looked away from the table and shook his head with a smirk.

“Because I can read between the lines that Gon can’t,” he said. “Because I wanted to check on the Zoldycks for myself and see how they were. But if you’re looking out for them, and if you’re on their case…” He grinned at Kurapika. “Sure, that means things were more serious than I initially thought. But they’re going to be okay. They’ve got you looking out for them.”

Kurapika felt himself blushing. The only thing he could think to do to hide it was to take another bite of food. “That is very kind of you to say. I appreciate the faith you put in me and my job.” _In both of them._

“Let me know if there is anything I can do for them,” Leorio offered. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a familiar-looking (not that he knew it) card. In a motion that immediately struck Kurapika with déjà vu, Leorio uncapped a ballpoint pen he kept in his pocket and scribbled his cell phone number across the back of it. “For therapy or any other treatment.”

Kurapika raised a brow and accepted the card. Stared at it. Looked to the twins. Looked back at Leorio. “You would do this?”

“'Course I would. It’s the right thing to do,” Leorio said with a self-conscious shrug. He looked at the kids, too. “I just want them to be okay, you know?”

Kurapika kept his eyes trained on Leorio. The way the fluorescent lights caught on his glasses, the soft expression in his eyes. This man cared and gave and healed with everything he had and never asked for anything in return. What Kurapika wouldn’t give to know whatever it was Leorio wanted or needed. What he wouldn’t give to present it to him right along with his heart on a platter.

Except that was the moment that the manager came over to request that the kids either tone it down or get out. Considering they had finished almost all of the food, a Herculean task that Kurapika was truly astounded by, they opted for the latter. Kurapika had had enough of these nachos and Nanika and Gon had brain freezes from the Baja Blast, so they all took up their trash and made their way out of the restaurant.

“Well, we should be getting home,” Gon said to Killua and the others. “It was really great to meet you all! We should do this again sometime.”

He held out his arms for a hug, and Alluka and Nanika leapt into the embrace. Shortly after that was Kalluto, who was much less effusive in their affections but let Gon ruffle their carefully-tended bob. Then while the siblings were saying their goodbyes to Leorio, Kurapika watched as Killua and Gon drew close together, speaking low so as not to be overheard. Gon said something that made Killua blink in surprise, blushing bright pink. Gon laughed brightly and pecked Killua quickly on the cheek before he stepped shyly back.

“They’re real cute,” Leorio observed, grinning down at Kurapika. “I’ve seen this coming for a while. It’s nice to see. I think Gon’s been a bit lonely since he came to Yorknew.”

Kurapika remembered Gon was looking for his estranged father, but this was not the time or place to ask about it. He grinned up at Leorio. “I agree. They are good together. And the rest of the siblings seem to like you.”

“That's just because they see that you trust me,” Leorio said with a self-deprecating shrug. At Kurapika’s stare, he laughed in bemusement. “What, you think they like me this much just from this first meeting? I’m good with kids, but not _this_ good. They trust me because they trust you. Do you not realize how much those kids adore you, Kurapika?”

Kurapika swept his gaze over the group, wondering - when had Nanika and Alluka started to laugh this brightly? When had Kalluto’s smile started to meet their eyes? When had they started to feel comfortable and safe enough to express themselves, loud and joyously, in public? When had the stress lines on Killua’s forehead and the dark circles below his eyes vanished? When had his shoulders dropped from their semi-permanent residence up around his ears?

_Do you not realize how much those kids adore you, Kurapika?_ Leorio asked, but he also heard something else. _What happens when all of this is over? If healing and closure is what you seek, Kurapika, I don’t know if you will find it on this road._

_What if this is the road I want?_ Kurapika wondered. _Do I have the right to ask for it? Do I have the right to say no if they do? Would I even want to?_

He didn’t think he would.

“Well, we’re off,” Leorio said to Kurapika. “See you soon. Is your stomach already bothering you?”

This struck Kurapika as an odd question. It was made even more so when his stomach _did_ give an ominous gurgle. “I… perhaps? Have I been poisoned?”

“Yep,” Leorio laughed. He waved at them all and turned to leave with Gon. “That’s why it’s called ‘Taco Hell. Good luck tonight.”

“Wait - what?” Kurapika asked helplessly, calling after Leorio as he laughed and waved in farewell. “Leorio! What does that _mean?”_

~

Kurapika wondered if his ribs were going to bruise again from his heart racing so quickly.

It _shouldn’t_ be going this fast. He was just here for his three-week follow-up. He was just your regular, average vigilante stopping by to get his ribs looked at by the doctor he was definitely a little bit in love with. It was fine. This was going to go _fine._

Kurapika banged his fist on the side emergency exit door. He waited a few moments for Leorio to let him in. In the distance was a low roll of thunder as an autumn storm rolled in. A few drops of rain splattered to the sidewalk in this alley, but before it could start up in earnest, the door opened.

“Hey, Chain,” Leorio greeted tiredly. He ushered Kurapika into the building and brought him to an office near the door. “How have the ribs been?”

“Fine,” Kurapika said, mostly honestly. “They ache. But I’ve stayed out of trouble to the best of my ability.”

Leorio snorted. “Only two weekly beat-downs instead of four?”

“Something like that,” Kurapika agreed. He hopped onto the exam table. “How long do you anticipate this being?”

“Why, hot date?” Leorio teased. Before Kurapika could argue that, no, this and their Taco Bell “dinner” (that only he knew about) was the closest he had been to a date in literal years, Leorio obliviously bowled on, “And this should be quick. A few palpations, a few minutes to listen to your heart. You should be out in ten minutes at the most. You can even keep your shirt on this time.”

_Oh, there’s a relief,_ Kurapika thought. Not that he could express relief or anything else without the entire jenga tower coming down. So he was silent as Leorio’s hands slipped along his sides, pressing against his ribs. The pressure ached, but no more than it did the rest of the time. Leorio nodded in approval as he worked. It was unfair that he was so unaffected by this when Kurapika very much _was._

Though of course Leorio would be unaffected by this. He was a doctor. He was used to touching people. He was not a touch-starved, pining fool like Kurapika was. The second this was over, Kurapika was going to run out the door as quickly and unsuspiciously as his legs could carry him, because this was getting ridiculous and altogether too risky.

It hurt to admit it, but Kurapika needed to put space between them. He felt like he was walking along a tightrope or balancing at the ledge of a tall, tall building. Like he would slip and fall and lose everything if he made a wrong move. As little as Kurapika wanted to pull away. As much as he _wanted_ to take that leap, to fall and fall and trust this doctor was falling with him. But whether Leorio fell with him or Kurapika dragged him down with him, wasn’t Kurapika just heading for the bottom, anyway? What would happen to them when they hit the ground?

“Alright, give me a minute to listen to your heart,” Leorio spoke through the rumble of anxious thoughts and conflicting feelings in his head.

“I,” Kurapika started to say, to protest, but then Leorio’s stethoscope was slipping through his collar and pressing cold metal against his skin. And Kurapika wasn’t the one wearing the stethoscope, but the only thing he could hear was the racing of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Kurapika watched as the emotions flickered across Leorio’s face. Surprise. Confusion. Alarm. Realization. And then something utterly foreign to Kurapika’s eyes, something terrifyingly unreadable.

“Your heart is racing,” Leorio observed. His voice was low and rough with _something._ “Why?”

_You know why!_ Kurapika internally shouted. _You know damn well why, you’re not an idiot, you see what you do to me. Why would you ask me that?_

_Why would you take this risk with me?_

“I - It’s because,” Kurapika stammered, “Because I - and you, that is…” He trailed off. His hands were shaking. His heart rate started to pound even faster, and Leorio knew all of that because he still was wearing that _damn stethoscope._

“Because I…?” Leorio prompted, stepping closer. He was so close. So warm.

So close to the fire. This was the conflagration that would burn them alive. That would swallow him whole.

“I need to go,” Kurapika breathed. He used his greater speed and dexterity to squirm away and race out the door. The side door rattled in its hinges as Kurapika stormed outside into the freezing downpour. He peeled off down the alleyway to the fire escape. He needed to get to higher ground, find solace in his solitude and the bird’s-eye view of the city.

“Chain!”

Kurapika froze. Leorio’s voice stopped him in his tracks, even though he knew, once again, it would be better and safer for all of them if he ran and ran and never looked back. But Kurapika was a weak, weak man, so he stopped and turned. Leorio stood at the bottom of the fire escape, the streetlight illuminating him from behind like a halo.

The way he was looking at him made him breathless. Leorio looked at him with awe, with exasperated affection, with determination, with the same burning want that set Kurapika’s blood aflame. Leorio looked at Chain the same way he looked at Kurapika. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. _Dangerous._

Leorio was walking up the steps. The rain drenched his shoulders and melted his hair out of its careful spikes. Kurapika took a step higher. Leorio followed, growing inexorably closer.

“This is a terrible idea,” Kurapika said. He took another step.

So did Leorio. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Kurapika stepped back again. “This...this is dangerous.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Leorio _did not stop moving._

“This isn’t a _joke,”_ Kurapika snapped.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

It did not. No, Leorio looked serious, but not severe; hopeful, but reasonable. Kurapika was frozen in place, unable to do anything more than stare at him. “I’m _serious._ The things I’m involved in...they’ll target you, too.”

Another step. “You know, I’m a doctor. I worked that out.”

“I,” Kurapika started. His thoughts were scattering. “I’m not saying you’re not smart. I just. It’s dangerous. _I’m_ dangerous.”

“I think you’re incredible.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous, too, Leorio!” Kurapika half-yelled over a burst of thunder. There was a panic buzzing under his skin that he was not sure how to address or ameliorate. Leorio did not look deterred. His expression did not shift at all from the resolute set of his jaw and the steadfast expression in his eyes. Like there was nothing and no one in the entire world that could talk Leorio out of what he felt for him, consequences be damned.

But that he felt - for whom? For Chain? For Kurapika? For _both?_ For the intrigue and the thrill that followed every step he took?

“What if I think you’re worth the danger, though?” Leorio asked. He was only a step below Kurapika, his body inches from his. _“Because_ I think you’re incredible? I’m an adult. I can weigh all the pros and cons and make my own decisions. What if I want you anyway?”

_What if I want you anyway?_ The idea of Leorio wanting him the way he wanted Leorio made his head spin. Electricity jumped erratically through Kurapika’s body, static humming under his skin. _Want, touch, taste_ warred in his brain with the screaming warnings of _danger, danger, danger, danger._ “You… you don’t even know me.”

That made Leorio pause. He met Kurapika’s eyes, scanning his face, all of the planes that he didn’t know he knew. He reached up and removed his own glasses, carefully folding them and tucking them safely into his pocket. The removal of that barrier made the inches between them feel even smaller than they were. He looked so much younger without his glasses, eyes open and warm and guileless and _wanting._

“I don’t. But I want to.” Leorio was leaning into him. “Will you let me?”

His fingers were reaching for Kurapika’s face, running over the red fabric of his mask. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Kurapika said helplessly, the words ripped from him before he’d even chosen to speak. Leorio huffed out a soft laugh.

“I know.”

“Egoist.”

“That’s fair.”

He was reaching for the catches on the mask. Kurapika stiffened, his hands suddenly catching on Leorio’s wrists. His skin felt feverishly hot on Kurapika’s rain-chilled fingers. “Wait.”

“Hm?” Leorio murmured. It melded with the thunder rumbling overhead. Kurapika could feel the hum of both in his breastbone.

“You - you can’t see my face,” Kurapika breathed. “Please. That’s all I ask. You can’t see my face.”

“That’s fine.” Leorio’s eyes closed. He was so close Kurapika could feel his breath. His forehead was warm on his, pressed skin-to-skin. Leorio’s fingers shook as they reached up, followed the elastic bands, traced the shell of his ears as he pulled off the mask. “I wish I could see you, though.”

Kurapika made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh. It was pathetic. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t think you could,” Leorio confessed. And then he was there, lips so warm and soft on his, skin scalding in the freezing rain. This first kiss was sweet and gentle and probing. A first meeting, a lay of the land.

_Leorio,_ Kurapika thought, hands reaching up to find the angles of his jaw, cradling his face in his hands. His fingers were shaking and he prayed they could both pretend it was from the cold. _Leorio, Leorio,_ Leorio -

And now the kiss changed, sweetness turning to fierceness and passion and the thunder boomed overhead and Kurapika tilted his head, mouth opening and pressing deeper, harder, chasing the taste of rainwater into his mouth. Leorio was the only thing in the world to him at that moment, this kiss the only thing that mattered - Leorio’s hands going to his hips to tug him flush against his lean form. He caught the back of his head in gentle hands as he kissed him again. This kiss was wanting, wanton, meeting and asking and taking and _claiming._ Claiming Leorio as he nipped at his lower lip, claiming Kurapika as Leorio’s hands slipped under his hat to run his hands through the hair he couldn’t see.

Kurapika was not an experienced kisser. He’d had a few partners over his life, but he still would not classify himself an expert in anything physical. But what he lacked in finesse he made up for in enthusiasm, and guided on by Leorio’s clearly greater experience, his patience and eagerness, this kiss was enough to steal even Kurapika’s breath.

Kurapika used his height and surprise to swing Leorio to the side and shove his back flush to the brick wall. He broke away for a breather, and the world was a dark hazy red as his irises changed from the rush of emotions in his blood - lust, adrenaline, awe, relief at the cathartic release of this _thing_ that had been building between them for _months._ Leorio was staring back at him, lips slightly parted, his hair and collar askew. He looked disheveled and well-kissed and _perfect._ He was breathing quickly, as evidenced in the short puffs of air that exited when he exhaled. Or maybe that was Kurapika’s breath. Breathing seemed optional, now. Anything that was not kissing Leorio, taking him from _disheveled_ to wrecked, was _optional._

This kiss was fast-paced and furious now. Kurapika pulled away to run his lips across his skin. It was frigid under his mouth from the cold night’s rain. But the _sound_ that escaped Leorio when he sucked a bright red mark under his ear, that he made when he returned to the man’s mouth, kissing him with such single-minded intensity he _melted_ in his arms, that escaped when Kurapika again took advantage of his greater height to slide his knee between his legs -

Kurapika kissed Leorio like he was staking his claim, but in reality, he was positive he never wanted to kiss anyone else like this ever again. Leorio had a claim over his heart long before they crossed this line they could not un-cross. He kissed him and it was yearning, greedy, possessive.

But whatever happened after this or beyond this - if there even would be anything - could not happen in this alley. For one, it was freezing, and even the feverish heat of this kiss was no longer enough to keep them from shivering. For another - it was an _alley._ If Kurapika was going to receive this chance, he wanted to do it right. He wanted to romance Leorio. He wanted to _seduce_ Leorio.

So slowly the urgency faded, ardor turning to slow, lingering kisses. Leorio pulled away. His hands cradled Kurapika’s face in his palms, and he pressed his lips to Kurapika’s forehead. He needed to close his eyes against the wave of affection that threatened to sweep him away.

“You should get going, Chain,” Leorio told him. “Because I live only a few blocks away, and I've half a mind to bring you home with me.”

The implications of his statement made something hot and delicious curl in anticipation low in his stomach. Yes, he did need to leave. Because he was another bad decision away from letting Leorio do whatever he wanted with him.

“What does this mean?” Kurapika asked. “For…” _For us? Is there even an us?_

“I’m not sure,” Leorio confessed. “You… you have… vigilante things to do, right? So whenever that’s wrapped up, let’s circle back.”

Kurapika swallowed. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Leorio breathed.

Overcome, Kurapika pressed his mouth to Leorio’s in one last, lingering goodbye. “You will ruin me, Leorio.”

Leorio laughed breathlessly. “You better leave before I open my eyes and take you up on that.”

Kurapika huffed out a soft laugh. Then, with a last kiss - to his brow, to the tip of his nose, to his mouth - he sprinted up the stairs. His steps were lighter than they had felt in years.

Looking back - Kurapika should have known that this was the pride before the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW thank you so much for reading!!!! please leave a comment/kudos/subscribe for updates!!! 
> 
> as always, please feel free to hmu on tumblr @notantherwritingblog !!


	6. Part 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika's phone is blowing up for no good reason.
> 
> _or:_ kurapika and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.
> 
> CW for portrayals of anxiety and general Zoldyck/Chrollo toxicity and shittiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to my very dear friend M. 💖💖💖 happy, happy birthday!!!!! 🍰🧁🍷🍻🎉🎁🥳 thank you for six (six!!!!!) amazing years of friendship and laughter. i understand if that ends after this chapter, though. please enjoy!!!

## 

part 6.

There was a hickey on Leorio’s neck.

There were other things Kurapika should have paid attention to. The way his nose was stuffy and his head heavy in what felt like a coming cold. The bustle of the morning crowd and the line inching forward. The crossword puzzle in his hand, 5-down taunting him with “a famous fool.” But none of that mattered, because Kurapika had walked into Happy Whale Coffee and seen Leorio in line, jacket open in the heat of the crowded shop, and he had a hickey on his neck.

“Oh, nine-across is ‘rest,’” Leorio said from next to him, pointing a finger at the page. “And twenty-three down is ‘footprint.’ And -”

“Hang on, I can’t write _quite_ that fast,” Kurapika replied, biting back a laugh that was entirely too casual and comfortable in this situation, because it was a regular morning and also Leorio had a hickey on his neck, and Kurapika had given it to him.

He was wearing scrubs, his scarf unwound and hanging loosely about his shoulders. He looked completely unfazed by the red splotch just below his ear, positioned so it was impossible to be the result of a shaving accident or bruise. He looked like he was _flaunting_ it. It was driving Kurapika mad. He wanted to give him another.

“Well, then write faster,” Leorio retorted playfully. They placed their orders one after another and rejoined in the standing area. Their routine was so well-established by now that they even had their own sort of ‘spot’ in the back, where they leaned against the wall and chatted and filled in the crossword as they waited for their drinks. Everything about this was the best ten minutes of Kurapika’s day. Normally he did his best to focus on their conversation and lighthearted banter, banter that sometimes toed the line of flirtation, but today he found it difficult to put his heart into it, because Leorio had a hickey on his neck.

Because Kurapika had kissed this man within an inch of his life last night. Because now Kurapika knew his touch and taste, knew what it felt like to slide his hands through his hair and feel the rasp of his stubble under his fingers, his lips, his tongue. He knew that Leorio thought he was sexy, clever, _incredible._ He knew that Leorio wanted him, too.

And there was absolutely nothing in the world Kurapika could do about it.

And his only reminder that last night had happened at all - the insurance that assured Kurapika that he hadn’t just had a surreal, hyper-realistic dream - was his burgeoning cold and _the hickey on Leorio’s neck._

“Kurapika?” Leorio nudged his shoulder, bringing his thoughts to the here and now. He blinked, looking up at Leorio. He went on, “You alright? You seem… out of it.”

_You have no idea,_ Kurapika thought but couldn’t say. He ducked his chin, self-consciously brushing his hair back behind his ear. He needed a haircut. “I am fine, thank you. I just think I’m getting a bit of a cold.”

“I see,” Leorio said sagely. His eyes flickered over Kurapika’s face thoughtfully. After a few moments he met Kurapika’s gaze and smiled. “Autumn came early this year, but there’s already something going around, I think. Make sure you take care of yourself.”

It took a few seconds for Kurapika to reconnect his brain and his mouth. That smile. That _smile._

_You will ruin me, Leorio._

_You better leave before I open my eyes and take you up on that._

“I’ll do my best, Leorio,” he said, and his voice was too soft and tone too warm for a public setting. But Leorio did not seem to notice, and if he did notice, he did not mind. For a few moments it was just the two of them in this little shop, arms pressed together as they leaned over the crossword, grinning like two teens on a first date. There was a hickey on Leorio’s neck and Kurapika put it there.

“Krapsuck!” Killua shouted from the counter, and the moment was ruined as Leorio laughed in Kurapika’s face. Kurapika rolled his eyes and stepped away to accept his drink.

“Looks like an octopus attached itself to Leorio’s neck,” Killua observed quietly. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Kurapika?”

Kurapika sniffed, primly examining his cuffs. “Kiss your not-boyfriend yet, Killua?”

Killua immediately went scarlet. “Shut _up.”_

“That’s a no, then.” Kurapika smirked at Killua’s increasingly flustered, irate expression. “Have a good shift, Killua. I’ll see you at home.”

Killua did not reply, only glaring daggers at Kurapika as he turned back to start making a spiced latte. Leorio was still laughing as Kurapika rejoined him.

“What did you say to the poor kid?” He asked. “Look at him! He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“Nothing scandalous,” Kurapika assured him. “A gentle tease.”

“A gentle tease!” Leorio repeated. His drink order was called and he fetched his black coffee. “You must remember, Mister Prosecutor, that your playful jibes can be deadly to us regular folk.” He peered down his nose at Kurapika with an impish smirk.

“Luckily for the regular folk, they have you,” Kurapika said breezily. He pushed the door open to step back into the morning cold, glancing back over his shoulder just in time to see the flush that crept over Leorio’s neck and the soft smile on his mouth. Kurapika looked away, turning his attention to the sidewalk and feeling as if he had just stepped out into a summer afternoon. The wind tossed his blond hair over his face as dry red and orange leaves crunched under his feet.

“What does Gon say about it?” Kurapika asked as the two men fell into step side-by-side. “I know after dinner he, ah…”

“Did the most adorable little cheek kiss I’ve ever seen?” Leorio offered. “Kid’s been over the moon about it. All day it’s ‘Killua said this, Killua did that, Killua is so smart, Killua is so pretty.’ That first sort of puppy-dog love, you know? It’s adorable.”

“Saccharine sweet,” Kurapika agreed, trying not to think about the parallels between nineteen-year-old Gon’s thoughts about Killua and his own about Leorio. Some people just did not meet the first person to make their steps feel lighter than air until they were thirty. Nothing to be embarrassed about there.

“Oh, it’s definitely giving me cavities,” Leorio said, making Kurapika laugh as they reached the point where their paths diverged. He peered up at Leorio, wishing things were different, that he could use the taller man’s scarf as a lever to pull himself up to his level and kiss a good-morning goodbye to his cheek or his mouth. Kurapika found himself envying the incredible bravery Gon so casually displayed when he kissed Killua.

Kurapika really had no legs to stand on when it came to teasing those two. Youth and horrible parents aside, they had their shit much more together than he did.

“Well, this is me,” Kurapika said lamely, waving a hand to indicate the rest of his walk, as if Leorio didn’t know. “Have a good rest of your day, Leorio.”

“And you, Kurapika,” Leorio said. For a moment he looked like he might add something more, a flicker of hesitation flashing over his face. But he was turning away before Kurapika could even process it, let alone ask after it. “Take care.”

“See you tomorrow,” Kurapika said. His eyes caught on the splotch of red on Leorio’s neck that peeked above the wool of his scarf, but he made himself turn around and cross the street. He was halfway to the office when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. Kurapika lifted a brow and sighed as he saw the caller was Mizai. Holding the phone to his ear, he greeted, “Detective Mizai.”

_“Good morning, Kurapika,”_ Mizai greeted. There was an edge to his tone that immediately made Kurapika’s back stiffen and his steps stutter to a stop. Passerby grumbled irritably as they were forced to weave around him and then when he about-faced on the sidewalk and started talking to the precinct. _“How quickly can you get here?”_

“Five minutes; I am on my way now,” Kurapika replied shortly. “What is happening?”

_“It’s best if we tell you in person,”_ Mizai said. _“See you in a few minutes.”_

That was a _horrible_ non-answer, and Kurapika quickened his steps as much as he could without running. There was a nauseating sick, churning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Kurapika’s fingers clenched tightly on his phone as it started to vibrate again. He swore aloud when he looked down at his palm and saw Melody’s name on his screen. Kurapika answered, lifting the phone to his ear. Melody did not bother with the niceties.

_“Kurapika, where are you?”_ She demanded. She was speaking quickly and quietly, like she was not sure who was listening in. Or like she was standing in a hallway and was unsure who might pass by and overhear. That sick feeling in Kurapika’s gut only worsened as Melody went on, _“We have the Hill case meeting this morning at eight, and it is seven forty-five and you are not here.”_

Like Kurapika didn’t know that. “The detectives called me and insisted I come to the precinct.” He was met with pure silence on the other end of the line, devoid of even the sound of Melody’s breathing. They both knew that Mizai calling Kurapika to the police station with all haste was only a bad sign. “I will be late to the meeting, or I won’t make it altogether.”

_“But Kurapika,”_ Melody whispered, _“You do realize what this means?”_

Kurapika jaywalked across the street to the station’s front doors. “I do,” he confirmed.

If Kurapika went to the meeting with the detectives, that would clue in the rest of the DAs - all of whom were in Chrollo’s corner and pocket - that he was involved in _something_ high-profile and important enough that it was worth missing that meeting. And very, very few things happening in this city right now were more important than the bombshell that was the Pariston Hill racketeering case. The timing was piss-poor at best and suspicious at worst. But if Kurapika did not meet with the detectives, then he would miss whatever they had to say and possibly receive vital information far too late. Both put him at a disadvantage.

_“What do I tell them?”_ Melody hissed into the receiver. _“We meet in thirteen minutes.”_

“I _know,”_ Kurapika half-snapped, half-panted as he took the stairs to the fourth floor so he wouldn’t be overheard in the elevator with the other cops. “Tell them…” Tell them what? He did not have court today; none of his cases involved any of his informants; he never overslept his alarms; he never forgot a meeting; he had never taken a sick day in his _life;_ and people would notice Assistant District Attorney Kurapika’s ID scanned into the records as he passed through security, so the latter excuses wouldn’t even _work,_ because now there were eyewitnesses and a paper trail putting him here.

There was the murmur of voices over the line as people passed by Melody. Suddenly she said, _“That’s an excellent catch, Kurapika, thank you. I will let Chrollo know that you will be about half an hour late, and we will see you shortly.”_ Another pause as someone else spoke to Melody; dimly, Kurapika heard Chrollo’s silken voice. Calmly, Melody said, _“Yes, Prosecutor Lucifer, I’m afraid Kurapika will be a touch late this morning; he uncovered some incongruities with the records relating to the Youpi embezzlement case. He is clarifying them now with the original hard-copies in the forty-fourth precinct.”_ More murmuring. _“Yes, Prosecutor. I will be in presently.”_

Kurapika waited for the noise on Melody’s end to taper off. Softly, heart in his throat, he murmured, “Thank you, Melody.”

A sigh. _“Of course, Kurapika. You have approximately thirty minutes.”_

“It’s better than nothing,” Kurapika hummed as he knocked on the detectives’ office door. “I will be there soon. Thank you again.”

Melody hung up the phone right as Morel opened the door. There were no effusive, cheerful greetings this morning; the broad detective simply stepped aside so Kurapika could enter the room.

“What is it?” Kurapika asked without preamble. He glanced at his watch and set a mental timer. “I have precisely twenty-eight minutes before I am expected back at the office. Any later and we risk Chrollo’s exposure.”

Mizai nodded. “This will be quick, then. We have two issues. The first is a warrant for Pariston Hill’s arrest hit Judge Botobai’s desk this morning.” Kurapika groaned aloud and started chugging his coffee to prepare himself for the rest of this conversation. “The good news is that it’s Botobai, and the old sonofabitch is going to go through every single allegation Chrollo has cobbled together with a fine-tooth comb. Which buys us a day. Two at most.”

“The bad news is everything else,” Morel picked up. He sipped his own mug of coffee. “This means that Chrollo’s team is ready to move forward with the arrest and indictment. And once that story hits the news -”

“-The story will be set,” Kurapika finished. He licked the last of his coffee from his lips. “The narrative will be out and the facts established to suit their case. Which will make our jobs significantly harder, but not altogether impossible.”

“Yes,” Mizai said with a nod. “Which is why we also submitted our own warrant to arrest Chrollo Lucifer, the rest of the DA’s office - with the exception of you and Melody, of course - and Commissioner Zoldyck and his family approximately thirty minutes after we found out.”

“So you’ve bought us three days,” Kurapika groaned. He reached up to rub his fingertips over his temples. Already he could feel a stress migraine coming on. “Thank you for doing that, gentlemen, that was excellent initiative. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks,” Morel said. “The second issue we needed to tell you is that within ten minutes of submitting that warrant, we started picking up suspicious activity on several accounts affiliated with Chrollo Lucifer and the Zoldyck family.”

“Oh, come the _fuck_ on,” Kurapika swore, because clearly when it rained it poured. He took a breath to rein in his temper; he could not afford to get pissy now. “What are you seeing?”

“Assorted phone calls to people identified by the Zoldyck children as folks called in to ‘take care of problems,’” Morel said, framing the last phrase in scare quotes. He tapped a few buttons on his computer to bring up various profiles across the computer screens. “Ex-cons and mercenaries, mostly. Most of whom are affiliated with the mafia.”

“Outsourcing their hit squad, clever,” Kurapika remarked. “Funnel the payments through enough shell corporations controlled by the Zoldycks, then through the ones operated by the mobs, and you’re hard-put to follow the money. This family has had decades to perfect its game.”

“Fortunately for us, Miss Nanika is even better,” Mizai said. “Her heads-up is how we know about this. This morning, she received an alert from a silent bug program she left on the family computer when she left home. Everything the Zoldycks do, we know about.”

“Amazing,” Kurapika said warmly. He was so proud of this criminal hacker mastermind child. He made a mental note to bring that confetti cake ice cream she and her sister preferred next time he went to the house, assuming he survived the day. “And what is the inevitable downside to this silver lining?”

“We only see the things that the Zoldyck kids knew about when they left,” Morel told him. “So if Milluki added anything new since then, we’re in the dark. Also this is just the electric footprint that we can see. Anything off the grid - burner phones, in-person meetings, cash transactions - we’re in the dark. Any GPS pings we may get will also be suspect, because if Miss Nanika can spoof them to ping off of different towers, then they can, too.”

“So, to clarify,” Kurapika said as his mental timer ticked down. He had five more minutes before he needed to return to the courthouse. Seven minutes if he decided to give up subtlety completely and just sprint through the Yorknew streets. “Chrollo has submitted his warrant and half-forged or modified evidence to arrest Pariston. We counter-submitted a warrant to arrest Chrollo and the Zoldycks. And within ten minutes of that submission, the Zoldyck family started moving money around for some unknown, probably nefarious reason?”

“Maybe they’re paying their back taxes,” Morel offered. Kurapika snorted so hard he coughed.

“This is all excellent work, detectives,” Kurapika praised, clearing his throat. “Thank you for telling me this. It could not have been said over the phone. Until we ascertain the Zoldycks’ target, please increase the protective detail on the children and do not go anywhere without each other. I need to get back to the office before Chrollo further suspects my involvement.”

“Do you think he knows it’s you?” Mizai asked. From anyone else, save Morel, it would have been a stupid question. But Kurapika knew this was Mizai’s way of gathering all of the evidence and quantifying all of the variables. And Kurapika’s safety was a variable he considered in all of his calculations, regardless of whether Kurapika thought of it himself. Nine times out of ten, he did not. His still-tender ribs proved that much.

“Chrollo has been doing this for too long,” Kurapika said darkly as he swung his jacket over his shoulders to take his leave. “He has suspected me from the beginning.”

To Morel and Mizai, _from the beginning_ meant this investigation. To Kurapika, it meant the first night he put on the red mask.

This showdown was a long time coming. Kurapika had known that he would find himself face-to-face with Chrollo eventually. But now, with the chips starting to fall and the clock running out - almost literally - he wondered if he was truly prepared for it. Was he ready to take his revenge?

_Is that really what you’re looking for out of this?_

_What happens when all of this is over?_

_If healing and closure is what you seek, Kurapika, I don’t know if you will find it on this road._

_Don’t give me that sunk-cost fallacy bullshit._

Kurapika’s internal timer was screaming _late, late, late_ in his mind. He nodded to the detectives and said as a farewell, “Keep me posted on any updates.”

He was out the door before they finished their goodbyes. He ducked into the stairwell and took the steps a full flight at a time, grateful for the solitude and the lack of cameras. Time felt oddly compressed as he power walked out the front doors. Passerby parted for him as he stalked through the streets. Only the hum of his phone in his pocket made him even blink. He dug his cell out of his pocket and frowned when he saw Killua’s name on his screen.

“Yes, Killua?” Kurapika asked, his tone clipped.

_“Oh, wow, so I guess shit really is hitting the fan,”_ Killua replied. _“I was calling to complain that setting an extra watch on us isn’t necessary, but that’s a scary tone.”_

So at least the kid had _some_ self-preservation instincts. Kurapika said, “It should not be for long. Although I do ask that you and your siblings stay safely inside and do not leave the house today.”

_“An excuse to skip calc? Fuck yeah,”_ Killua said. Kurapika grit his teeth, his patience fraying and temper rising, when Killua added, _“The girls are keeping an eye on the family’s movements, too, so we’ll call you as soon as we learn anything.”_

“Please do not,” Kurapika ordered. “Killua, I appreciate that, I really do, but right now we need you to keep your heads down and allow us to follow the official channels.”

_“The official channels suck and are too slow,”_ Killua snapped back. _“You need the edge here, and that’s what we can provide. You’ve done so much for my family, more than we expected. Let us help you. Zoldycks repay their debts.”_

“Repay their - Killua, we had a deal,” Kurapika argued. _Also, you are nineteen._ “A deal that is not yet complete. You owe me nothing.”

There was a pause. Finally Killua replied, but his tone was not what Kurapika expected. He had prepared himself for more flinty, childish petulance. Instead, Killua’s voice was softer, more emotive. _“The deal was my testimony for my siblings’ safety. You gave them more than that. A safe haven. Adults to trust and respect and look up to. Empowerment to speak up for themselves. Respect and dignity and humanity. Kurapika, this safe house is more a home to us than the old estate ever was.”_ Killua’s voice was thick on the other end of the line. Kurapika found his own throat was closing, too, and he swallowed. _“At every point in this investigation you have given us more than you received. This deal is not finished. We are going to help you and the detectives whether you like it or not, so save your breath and don’t try and stop us.”_

Kurapika walked into the office building and marched to the elevator. He scanned his ID badge and lay his head back against the wall as it started to rise. There was so much he wanted to say and no time or security to say it. So he only said, “Very well. I know when to concede a loss.”

_“Ha! A first,”_ Killua crowed like the last thirty seconds had not happened. Only the rough catch in his voice and the pressure building behind Kurapika’s eyes hinted otherwise. _“We’ll be careful and keep our methods, like, sixty percent legal.”_

“Killua,” Kurapika warned.

Killua snickered across the line and sounded much more like himself as he replied, _“Eighty percent, but I won’t tell you which parts are iffy. I assure you it’s never what you expect. I’ll talk to you soon, Kurapika.”_

“Yes,” Kurapika murmured as the elevator doors opened and he glided through the office. “You will. Be safe.”

He hung up the phone as the conference room door came into view, tucking his phone into his pocket. He took a breath, trying to soothe his heartbeat and will the tremors from his hands. He smoothed his hair and his suit, trying to make himself look presentable and in control and not approximately three mishaps away from a complete breakdown.

He rapped his knuckles on the door and opened it, stepping soundlessly into the room. He schooled his features into placid neutrality.

“Kurapika,” Chrollo greeted like the passive-aggressive bastard he was. His dark eyes shone with a malicious joy that completely obliterated all of Kurapika’s progress towards not freaking the fuck out. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

“My apologies,” Kurapika said humbly, internally adding _asshole_ and a few other swear words to the end of that sentence. “I believe Melody informed you of my reason for my absence?”

“She did,” Chrollo confirmed with an unpleasant smile. The aura of malice rolled off of him in waves. It was all Kurapika could do not to take a glass bottle of sparkling water, shatter it, and start fighting with Chrollo right there. Anything to break this horrible, stagnant _suspense._ Suspense made all the worse with this particularly unctuous man and vicious family involved, because Kurapika anticipated the other shoe that dropped would actually be a body.

“Excellent,” Kurapika said as he sat down in his usual place. He removed his legal pad and pen from his bag and tried not to squeeze it so tightly he cracked the fountain pen in half. “Please, carry on.”

There were two horrible things about this meeting. First, it lasted most of the rest of the day. Chrollo loved the sound of his own voice, and he expounded upon and reiterated his arguments and the facts of the case several times. Only Melody’s hand gently resting atop Kurapika’s anxiously bouncing knee kept him from vibrating to pieces.

Second, the meeting was so _normal._ There was not much they could do until Judge Botobai signed off on the warrant, so they all sat around constructing arguments and reviewing evidence and drafting briefs. No one breathed a word of the other warrant the elderly judge was reviewing, the one that called for the arrest of every person in this room except for Kurapika and Melody.

And, _fuck,_ as if _that_ wouldn’t be _incredibly obvious_ when the truth came out.

It was in every way a normal day at the office except for the tension in the air that was so thick Kurapika wondered if he would choke. He barely made it through lunch during their hour-long break; he was so anxious he was not hungry, and only Melody’s increasingly stern threats ultimately bullied him into finishing his tomato soup. It still tasted like he was eating paint.

Occasionally Kurapika was able to sneak glances at his phone for any updates. Except there _were_ no updates, because no news was good news, and also it would have been particularly stupid to text Kurapika potentially damning investigation details while he was sitting in the lion’s den ten feet from the lion. Still, not hearing _anything_ only made him feel worse as ridiculous theories kept bouncing through his mind. The most productive thing he did that day was arrange for Detectives Morel and Mizai to escort Melody home, a move that Melody argued was too conspicuous and Kurapika countered was a necessary risk when there was a pending warrant out for sixty percent of the district attorney office’s arrest. It was a wonder the media hadn’t caught wind of any of this yet; if it had, Kurapika knew Bisky would have shown up at the office herself just to try and catch Chrollo with his pants down.

A gross, but apt metaphor, Kurapika reasoned as he grimaced. He took another sip of his coffee and pretended that was why he was making a face in the middle of Magcub’s sentence.

Their meeting broke up sometime around six o’clock, and Kurapika sighed in relief once he made his way back to his office. He checked his phone for any messages.

_All clear,_ Canary assured him.

_we’re ok mr kurapika!!!_ 🥰🥰🥰, sent Alluka, with a selfie of her siblings. Their smiles were pinched but genuine. Alluka and Nanika each were giving the camera a thumbs-up motion, Kalluto a peace sign, Killua a middle finger. Which explained the follow-up text of, _sorry sorry, ignore kiki!! he's being a brat_

_ignore alluka, im not a brat at all,_ Killua had messaged a minute after those messages. _also can you bring some chocorobos next time you swing by? we're out & canary says they're bad for ur teeth._

_There hasn't been any more activity I can ID,_ Nanika updated him. The text was timestamped a little over an hour ago.

_Made it home safe, windows & door are locked,_ Melody texted.

_Still no word & Botobai’s gone home for the day,_ Mizai sent. _We’ve posted an undercover car at his house just in case._

These were good messages, Kurapika reasoned. Again, no news was good news. Everyone was home safe and sound. So why, _why_ did he feel like he was standing in the middle of a frayed bridge watching the ropes snap one by one? Why did he feel like there was something he was missing? Like he was missing the piece of evidence that tied together his entire case. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except the shoe might be a body.

His door opened without the intruder’s knock first. Kurapika whirled around from his spot in front of his desk.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here?” Hisoka drawled. Kurapika’s lip curled in instinctive, probably over-reactive irritation.

“Because I _work_ here,” he snapped. He pointed to the door. “Get out of my office.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Hisoka taunted, shaking a finger in a _tsk_ -ing motion. “I think you will want to see what I have here.”

He stepped further into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. The door shut with a slam that echoed in the floor’s empty halls. Neither man startled, eyeing one another with varying levels of suspicious annoyance (Kurapika) and malevolent delight (Hisoka). The man approached Kurapika’s desk and lifted a plain, unlabeled envelope in a hand.

“Do you know what I have here?” Hisoka asked.

_Take a wild fucking guess, you unhinged, sadistic, cheap -_ “I do not,” Kurapika admitted.

Hisoka’s leer grew even wider. “I thought not.” He pinched the upper edge of the envelope between his fingers and swung it to and fro in front of Kurapika as if he were taunting a child. “A friend of mine sent me these pictures. I thought they might be of… particular interest to you.”

Well, if _that_ wasn’t the most suspect and alarming thing Kurapika had heard that day. With an annoyed snarl, Kurapika snatched the envelope from Hisoka’s neon-orange acrylics and opened it. He reached a hand in, pulling out a stack of glossy papers, and -

To say his blood ran cold would have been an understatement. Kurapika’s blood did not suddenly turn to ice water. No, his circulation stopped completely, his blood congealing in his veins as his brain completely whited out in shock as he took in the papers. The _pictures._

One: Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto beaming over an enormous slushie, their eyes glowing and smiles wide and tongues stained green.

Two: Alluka and Nanika hugging Gon goodbye, their faces buried into Gon’s strong chest, Gon’s arms bunched up around the twins as he held them like he had known them for years and not an hour at most.

Three: Gon ruffling Kalluto’s hair, the taller boy beaming in good-natured lightheartedness, the younger child laughing with an unrestrained smile so rare Kurapika could count the number of times he had seen it on one hand.

Four: Killua and Gon’s faces mere inches apart, Gon smiling with obvious affection. Killua’s expression was open and unguarded, surprised and amazed and soft, studying the glow of Gon’s smile and the array of his freckles like they were constellations.

The envelope tumbled to the floor. The world went red as Kurapika’s hands fisted on Hisoka’s expensive silk shirt collar. The books on his shelf rattled as he roughly shoved Hisoka against the bookcase. There was almost a full-foot difference between their heights and Kurapika _did not fucking care_ as he glared up at Hisoka.

“Give me _one good reason_ I shouldn’t kill you right there,” Kurapika snarled.

Hisoka’s expression did not change from its delighted smirk. Instead, his grin grew borderline rapturous. “Did you see all of them?” he asked, his voice tight from the pressure Kurapika had on his windpipe. “I do find the last one particularly… intense.”

“I’ve seen what I need to,” Kurapika hissed.

“You didn’t,” Hisoka demurred. “But if you want to be stubborn, so be it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Shut the _hell_ up,” Kurapika yelled. His fingers clenched tighter, wrinkling the glossy purple material. “And answer my question. Why shouldn’t I throw you off the roof of this building? How did you get these?”

Hisoka giggled. _Giggled._ Like he was _enjoying_ being roughed up. Ugh, he _definitely_ was. “Did you know I went to law school with Illumi Zoldyck? We go way back. Real bosom-buddies. The poor man has been having some family troubles lately, and I’ve offered him a comforting ear.” His yellow eyes met Kurapika’s. They looked orange through the filter of his scarlet irises. “But you wouldn’t know a thing about that, would you?”

Kurapika’s hands were shaking. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”

Hisoka laughed. The sound made the hair on Kurapika’s neck stand on end. “Because Illumi Zoldyck is a soulless, self-serving, spineless bastard, and I’m a _slut_ for chaos. Things have been getting so interesting lately. I hate to see it end.”

Hisoka was clearly having the time of his life here. Kurapika’s lip curled and he slammed Hisoka’s back against the shelves again, hard enough the man actually let out a surprised _oof_ of pain as the air escaped his body. What Kurapika wouldn’t give to punch the grin right off of this sick bastard’s mouth. But instead he growled, “I’ll ask a third time. I won’t ask a fourth. _Why are you telling me this?”_

Hisoka smiled as a manic glow illuminated his eyes. “If I have them… who else does?”

And the ropes holding up Kurapika's bridge snapped. Illumi Zoldyck. The Commissioner.

_Chrollo._

Kurapika forcefully shoved Hisoka aside, sending the man stumbling into a side table and the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. He snatched the envelope off the floor and stalked out of the office. Hisoka’s laughter echoed through the halls.

“I hope you make it in time, Kurapika!”

The elevator doors swung shut, and Kurapika was alone in the five-by-eight box.

First, he took a breath. Held it. Released.

That wasn’t working. He yelled for three seconds. It was a little cathartic. He dug his phone from his pocket and dialed.

Morel picked up on the first ring. _“Kurapika?”_

“The Zoldycks have been tailing the kids,” Kurapika started without preamble. “I’ve just received photos of them from dinner out weeks ago. Their safe house may have been made. Increase patrols and inform Canary and Amane. I am on my way there now -”

_“Kurapika, Kurapika, wait, slow down,”_ Morel interrupted. _“Let me get this straight. You said there’s pictures?”_

“Yes,” Kurapika ground out. “I have photos of the kids and Gon. I am on my way to their house now.”

_“Wait, don’t,”_ Morel said. _“If they’re being watched, you might be, too. And if you’re followed they could learn where their safe house is if they don’t already. This could be exactly what they want you to do. It’s not worth the risk. Go home and I will do it. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”_

“But -” Kurapika started, but Morel actually made a good point. Much as he was loath to admit it. Growling in frustration and feeling useless, he directed his steps home. It did not matter how useless he felt. As long as the kids were safe. That’s all that mattered. “Very well. Tell me when you get there.”

He hung up. A few seconds later he called Canary. It went straight to voicemail. Anxiety truly in the stratosphere now, Kurapika called Amane next. She, at least, answered after only two rings.

_“Canary is talking to Morel,”_ Amane greeted. _“What’s this about the safe house possibly being made?”_

Amane’s voice was calm, which Kurapika deeply appreciated. He quickly and concisely told her what he had learned in the office. Amane listened without interruption, and when he was done, she said, _“I see.”_ A pause as Canary relayed something to her partner. _“Morel should be here in a few minutes, and our backup has been posted. We’re okay, Kurapika. Thank you for the warning.”_

“Of course,” Kurapika replied. He sounded like he was running as he walked home to his apartment. This was good. He should be relieved. He had acted in time; the crisis was averted. So why wasn’t this knot in his chest loosening? Why did it feel like it was only growing tighter and tighter, tangling his lungs like unspooled yarn?

_“There’s something that’s bothering me,”_ Amane added hesitantly.

“Go on,” Kurapika prodded.

_“You said there were pictures of the kids when they went out with you?”_ Amane asked. Kurapika made a noise of assent. Amane went on, _“That’s weird, isn’t it? Why would they wait so long to make a move if they had these weeks ago?”_

“That’s true,” Kurapika murmured as he reached his building. “The warrant for the family’s arrest was filed today. Perhaps this was to preempt any retaliatory action.” Even as he said it he knew that was not correct.

_“If that were the case, they would have acted sooner,”_ Amane said, speaking Kurapika’s thoughts aloud. _“They wouldn’t have waited to threaten you until today. And why you? Why not send the pictures to Mizai and Morel? Why not send them directly to us?”_

“I’m not sure,” Kurapika admitted as he unlocked his door. His hands were still shaking. “But you ask good questions. I will consider them and contact you all if I come up with something. Until then, follow Morel and Mizai’s instructions and do not leave that house for anything short of a fire.”

Amane chuckled softly. _“You really love those kids. Well, I guess Canary and I do, too, now. We’ll take care of them, don’t worry. Be safe, Kurapika.”_

She hung up. And then Kurapika was alone in his studio apartment, half in darkness, his tie loosened like it would help him breathe and his top buttons unfastened. His phone rattling in his hands. His head spinning.

He needed to stop. Breathe. Think. He needed the distance that indifference provided, the objective mindset that made him such a good prosecutor. He had all of the evidence he needed at his disposal; now, his task was to put the puzzle together. He would be even more useless if his panic kept running away with him like this.

Kurapika went to his kitchen and forced himself to down a glass of water and eat an energy bar. Then he returned to his desk in the main room. He was full of too much frenetic energy to sit; he hovered over the table, palms flat to the cheap Ikea build, and thought.

Amane was right: it made little sense for the Zoldycks to save this trump card until now. If they wanted to intimidate their children or coerce them out of testifying, it would have made sense to start these tactics well before the warrant was out. Something had happened in the last twenty-four that made it imperative that the Zoldyck-Lucifer camp show their hand now.

Kurapika reached for the envelope and pulled out the pictures. He felt ill with the swirls of wrath at seeing these shots of the one night these children had to remember when they had been allowed to relax and let loose, when they had truly been allowed to act like _children._ The cruelty of this family to treat their children as pawns in their game, malleable clay to mold and fire in the shape they wanted. To treat their children as tools and not brilliant, adorable, snarky, monstrous, _incredible_ people. The arrogance.

But _what_ was he missing?

_Why would they wait so long to make a move if they had these weeks ago?_

_I do find the last one particularly… intense._

_If they’re being watched, you might be, too._

_Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

Hisoka’s words came back to Kurapika now. And more than words, Kurapika remembered the knowing smirk and lascivious smile on the man’s face. The man had been teasing him. Laughing at him. Not his terror, not the kids. _Him._

An awful calm started to radiate from Kurapika’s chest. A calm that was not calm at all, but terror and panic so far past debilitating that it actually made Kurapika’s stomach and heart settle and his hands steady. His brain filled with a cold, dark certainty as he flipped through the pictures again. Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto; Alluka, Nanika, and Gon; Kalluto and Gon; Killua and Gon. Kurapika’s fingers flipped to pictures he had been too frenzied to discover earlier.

Five: Kurapika and Leorio standing face-to-face in the light outside the restaurant. The careful two feet of distance between their bodies. The bashful, shy smile on Kurapika’s face, the hopeful gleam in his eyes. The warm smile on Leorio’s face, his expression soft and kind and longing. He looked at Kurapika like he was everything he wanted in this world.

Six: A blurry photo, the colors dark and bold, the lines stark. Two figures intertwined. One figure’s face was too blurry to make out from the distance. The other was clearly Leorio, his profile illuminated by the distant streetlight, the hand cradled under his face angled just so the light caught on the curve of his jaw.

_It wasn’t about the kids,_ Kurapika realized. Bile was rising up his throat. _It wasn’t about the kids, it was never about the kids -_

It was about Bloody Chain.

It had always been about Bloody Chain.

And with the entire police force locking down the Zoldyck safe house, their energy and focus and attention on the children -

Kurapika threw papers off of his desk in his rush to scrabble at his phone. The room was pink, scarlet, mauve as his irises darkened in his panic, and he dialed the number and pressed the screen to his ear so hard he felt his earring back dig into his skin.

After two rings, the line connected. A caramel-smooth voice purred, _“Chain. I wondered when you would figure it out.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, thank you for reading!! a few notes:   
> \- 5-down's "famous fool" is “don quixote”  
> \- my next update will be in a few days, after i finish moving apartments and supposing M doesn't drive to my apartment and break down my door  
> \- depending on how the next chapter parses out, there maaaaay be a part 8. we will see.
> 
> anyway!!! thank you for reading!!!! please leave a comment/kudos/subscribe for updates as we head into the grand showdown!!! as always, feel free to hmu on tumblr @notantherwritingblog! thanks you again!


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and his four kids run a rescue mission.
> 
> CW for graphic depictions of violence and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, all!!! thank you for your patience - moving utterly DESTROYED me and kicked my ass. tendinitis left me a wreck for like 2 days. also, for those curious, M came very close to driving to my apartment and putting a rock through my window after the last chapter.
> 
> please enjoy!!

## 

part 7.

_“Chain. I wondered when you would figure it out.”_

Kurapika’s entire body stopped moving. His lungs, his heart, his blood. His very cells stopped multiplying. Everything in his body and everything in the universe _froze._ Because there was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that he was awake and his worst nightmare was happening, that he was calling Leorio and Chrollo Lucifer was answering instead.

_“Did you know,”_ Chrollo asked mildly, _“That Dr. Paladiknight has your caller ID saved with a heart emoji and… paper clips? Oh, chains.”_ He chuckled. _“That’s cute. It looks like your doctor has a bit of a crush, Chain.”_

_That first sort of puppy-dog love, you know?_ Leorio had asked, a self-deprecating, self-conscious grin on his lips. Kurapika might have seen it, might have connected the dots, if he had gotten out of his own head for three seconds to see what was right in front of him. _It’s adorable._

“What have you done with him?” Kurapika asked with numb lips. He did not bother trying to disguise his voice. There was a large chance Chrollo already knew who was on the line. If he did not, then he would soon enough when Kurapika ripped his head clean off of his shoulders. But his voice was also low and rough as gravel with _fury._ Kurapika himself did not even recognize it. Nothing mattered anymore when he snarled, _“Where is he?”_

_“Safe and sound, have no worries,”_ Chrollo hummed. _“He’s right here with me.”_

“I do not believe you,” Kurapika hissed. “Show me proof of life, or I will leave you in pieces for the police to puzzle together again.”

_“And how do you plan to find me, Chain?”_ Chrollo taunted. _“In any case, I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time. Who would have thought that the key to finding you would have been as simple as a drive-by pickup of a low-brow doctor? We’ve been asking him who you are, and he claims he does not know. Which I just… simply cannot believe. You two looked cozy the other night.”_

Kurapika’s fingers clenched tighter around the phone case. The plastic creaked warningly. “Proof. Of. Life.”

Chrollo sighed. _“Very well. I will place you on speakerphone.”_ There was a pause as he hit a few buttons, followed by the sound of echoing footsteps and the rustle of fabric. _“Dr. Paladiknight, I have Bloody Chain on the line. He insists on proof of life before he will even allow me to discuss terms.”_

_“The terms are a bit obvious, aren’t they?”_ Kurapika’s knees almost gave out in relief at hearing Leorio’s voice. He sounded rough and weary, but there was no tell-tale rasp of pain from enhanced interrogation in his voice. He was well enough, all things considered. _“You want to know who Bloody Chain is, so you kidnap me. Except I have no idea who he is behind the mask. So you’re probably going to tell Chain you’ll torture me or whatever until he comes down here and turns himself in, because you’re a greasy douchebag. Am I wrong?”_

It was a bad time to think this, but wow, Kurapika really, _really_ liked this man.

“Leorio,” Kurapika said. “Are you well? Have they hurt you?”

_“Right as rain, handsome, we’re sipping mimosas.”_ There was a sound like a slap. Leorio made a grunting sound. _“As you can tell, I’ve just had my drink topped off. I assume we’re going to have a grand old time of things before they get sick of me and kill me, or you come down here and break me out.”_

“I will find you,” Kurapika swore to him softly. “I am going to get you out of there.” _Leorio, Leorio, I am so sorry._

_“Don’t,”_ Leorio said tiredly. _“Please, really, don’t. You can’t get hurt. The city needs you, Chain. I’m just a clinic doctor.”_

Kurapika slammed his free palm flat onto the table. He wanted to yell through the phone, _Chain doesn’t do anything for this city! I was in this for myself, you know that, you know that this was a selfish quest all along. I’m not you, I’m nothing like you, a good man who only wants to do right by his clients and his community. They need you far more than they need me._

_They need you. I need you._

_“Well, this is very touching,”_ Chrollo said before Kurapika could gather himself. He sounded delighted at the shared agony he was witnessing. _“But I think this works well enough as proof of life. The deal is clear. Dr. Paladiknight for you, Chain. You have ninety minutes.”_

“And why should I believe the doctor will even be alive by the time I get there?” Kurapika demanded.

_“Because his slaps are weak as hell,”_ Leorio called out. _“Seriously, the dude has a limp wrist.”_ There was another thud, the sound of skin striking skin, of Leorio coughing and laughing. _“That’s better! Next time you should put your thumb inside your fist, though, I hear that makes the punch land better. And did you try sticking your head up your ass?”_

_“Every time he speaks, I think less of you, Chain,”_ Chrollo informed Kurapika. The background audio changed as he turned off the speakers. _“Falling in love with… well. In any case. That is the trade. The good doctor for you. Ninety minutes.”_

_“Don’t do it, Chain!”_ Leorio yelled in the background. _“It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t do it -”_

The line went dead.

For a few moments, the only thing that Kurapika heard was the high-pitched ringing in his ears. The hummingbird-quick race of his heartbeat. The rattling of the chain links locked around his own heart.

Chrollo had Leorio. _Chrollo had Leorio._

And dammit, dammit, _dammit,_ how could he have been so _stupid?_ This was why he had lived for nothing but work for the past few years, because he was _dangerous._ He lived a solitary, lonely life to protect himself and others, insulated from the warmth that a different life might have to offer. Until Leorio, Leorio, _Leorio,_ who made him laugh and smile and strive to be better, who took Kurapika’s cold, dark world and twisted everything upside down.

Leorio, who brought sunshine and the smell of the ocean with him everywhere he went, and even at the end of the line, Kurapika was too selfish and weak to regret a moment of it. Because for a blessed few weeks, he was happy. Leorio made him happy.

A memory flashed through Kurapika’s mind:

_Do I give you hope, Leorio?_

_I think you do, Chain._

Leorio made Kurapika _happy,_ but Chain gave Leorio _hope._ Kurapika would not let him down again.

Kurapika clenched his fists and his jaw. Inhaled. Exhaled. Forced himself to calm, because he could not afford to lose his cool. Because the other shoe just dropped, and he could not let Leorio take that fall.

Kurapika reached for his phone and dialed the number. The first ring barely completed before the call connected.

_“Mr. Kurapika?”_ Nanika’s voice, high with confusion, echoed over the line. _“What’s going on?”_

“I can’t say too much,” Kurapika said, forcing himself to speak at an even pace and not as rapidly as his flying thoughts. “I am sorry to have to ask this, but it is imperative I do. If I gave you a phone number, could you pull up its GPS location?”

Nanika snorted over the line. _“With you starting in that tone, I thought you would be asking something hard. Of course I can. Phone number?”_

Kurapika rattled off Leorio’s cell. There was the echoing clacking of computer keys across the line. A few moments later, Nanika said, _“Done. It’s a warehouse in the docks district. Mafia-affiliated.”_

“Can you text me the address?” Kurapika asked.

_“Already did,”_ Nanika answered immediately. Kurapika’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced at his screen. _Warehouse 12. 404 Wharf St. “Mr. Kurapika, I have a bad feeling about this.”_

“I know,” Kurapika said softly. “I’m sorry. It’s… it’s unfair of me to put you in this position.”

_“No, it’s not that,”_ Nanika said. _“It’s just, I… is this about… your other job?”_

Kurapika froze. Gave his phone a double-take. He was too taken aback to reply more eloquently than, “I beg your pardon?”

_“You know…”_ Nanika hummed. _“Um. You know…”_

_“The vigilante thing!”_ Alluka suddenly piped up, to Kurapika’s horror. Even worse, he heard Killua and Kalluto humming along as well.

“What - I just - are you - am I on _speaker phone?”_ Kurapika demanded.

_“Of course not,”_ Alluka said impatiently. Kurapika swore he could hear her rolling her eyes from miles away. _“Only old people use that anymore. These are my earpieces that I’ve designed. Totally safe and secure. It’s how we all kept in contact when we were separated back home. Is this about you being Bloody Chain?”_

“How in the _hell_ do you know that?” Kurapika snapped. He growled in annoyance and shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t have time to dispute this or ask after your and your sister’s supernatural ability to know things you shouldn’t.”

_“It was just a background check,”_ Nanika argued. _"A bit of deductive reasoning."_

_“Also, you knew Bisky,”_ Killua added. _“Our side suspected for a while she’s got an in with Bloody Chain, to be breaking all those stories.”_

Great, that was another problem for the morning.

_“You showed up injured at the same time Bloody Chain disappeared for a while, too,”_ Alluka said.

_“What’s happened, Mr. Kurapika?”_ Kalluto asked. Their serious tone cut through the myriad ways these brilliant kids were shredding the careful curtains that kept Kurapika’s worlds two separate entities.

Kurapika huffed out a sigh through his nose. Nanika was the one who answered. _“Mr. Kurapika. That’s Dr. Paladiknight’s phone number.”_

The line fell silent. Kurapika sighed. “Yes.”

_“And he’s just… vibing in a warehouse storage lot?”_ Killua asked. There was a terrible pause. _“Oh.”_

“Yes, Killua,” Kurapika said with a sigh. “Oh.”

_“You know this is a trap,”_ Killua told him. Kurapika grit his teeth.

“Yes.”

_“And you’re going anyway.”_

“Yes.”

_“They’re going to be looking for you. Police will probably be called there, too. They’ll make it look like you took Leorio. Or they’ll kill you both before you can tell the full story.”_

“They can try,” Kurapika said. “Killua, all of you, I need to go. I am sorry to drag you all into this.”

_“You’re not dragging us,”_ Nanika argued. _“This is the first time I’ve gotten to use my skills to actually help when something mattered. To save someone. We’re going to help you. Kalluto?”_

There was a blip as Kalluto hummed _“on it”_ and dropped out of the call. Alluka said, _“I’m going to pull up the schematics of this warehouse.”_

_“I’ll check the cameras to see what you’re walking into,”_ Nanika added. _“Kiki, Kalluto, go.”_

Kurapika had no idea what that meant. He had no idea how this happened, his cover being blown to smithereens and his illegal activities being facilitated by the kids he was supposed to be keeping safe. Did this make him just as bad as their parents? Was he using them, too? Or was it wrong to refuse them the opportunity to put their ill-founded skills to use? To refuse them the opportunity to _save_ someone, just once?

There was plenty of time to review the ethics of his actions in painstaking, over-analytic detail later. Now, Kurapika needed to save Leorio. He had only eighty minutes until the deadline.

_They’re going to be looking for you,_ Killua told him. He was right. Chrollo’s people were going to be on the lookout for anyone and anything suspicious. They knew his name and his face.

_So,_ Kurapika mused as he went to the back of his closet, approaching a dusty, heavily lacquered box, _I should make sure they see me coming._

The wood creaked as Kurapika slowly lifted the lid. Hinges squealed from lack of use - this chest had not been opened in nearly fifteen years. The box smelled of cardamom and cinnamon and lingering sweet, smoky incense. Kurapika swallowed roughly as his traced shaking fingers over thick, heavy fabric and intricate embroidery. Red fabric. Gold embroidery.

Kurapika pulled on the white linens that went under these proper Kurta robes, a close-cut white shirt and pants. The tunic was short-sleeved, with a low neckline and a high collar. It fit snugly over Kurapika’s shoulders and narrowed at the waist, where it was tied off with a belt. The tunic fell to his knees with high slits up the sides, allowing for greater range of movement.

Over this went his well-worn leather jacket and hood. His boots. His dust mask.

There was a knocking on his window. Kurapika turned to it and rolled his eyes, surprised that he was not _more_ surprised to see Killua and Kalluto hovering in matching black clothes on his fire escape. Honestly? Truly? This might as well happen. Kurapika was so far past trying to make sense of anything that was not _find Leorio, get to Leorio._

He opened the window. Killua immediately asked, “Is that your cosplay?”

“It’s Kurta cultural garb, Killua, read a book.” Kalluto pinched Killua for good measure. While Killua was glowering at his youngest sibling, Kalluto passed Kurapika a small box. Opening it, Kurapika saw that it was an earwig. He flipped on a switch and inserted it into his ear.

“Hello?”

_“Mr. Kurapika!”_ Nanika greeted cheerfully. _“Excellent, they made it there. How do the comms feel? It’s a slightly older model, but because of that I doubt our family will try looking for this frequency. They never understand the importance of the classics!”_

“I can hear you,” Kurapika said, because he was not sure what else to say. He sent Killua a look. “These are ceremonial robes. Be respectful.”

Killua grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Kurapika.”

“Forgiven,” Kurapika said. He reached for the lights, setting his cell phone and keys down on a counter. He would not need them where he was going. “Let’s go.”

He stepped to the window. The three slipped noiselessly into the night, creeping back down to the street and the plain gray sedan that sat parked in the alley between Kurapika’s apartment and the building next door.

“I don’t…” Kurapika sighed, pinching his fingertips over the bridge of his nose. “Do I want to know where this car came from?”

_“Someone owed me a favor,”_ Alluka said simply.

“Lots of people owe you favors, it seems,” Kurapika observed. He could picture quite clearly the sort of guilty, self-satisfied grin Alluka was giving her computer screen.

“I’ll drive,” Killua said, tugging the keys from his pocket. Kurapika opened his mouth to argue, but Killua preempted any reply he could have made by snapping, “You’re not driving anywhere right now, Kurapika.”

Kurapika snarled in irritation but said nothing as he stalked around to the passenger side door. He slammed it harder than he meant to as he sat in the perfectly average car interior.

“Seatbelt,” Killua reminded his passengers as he sat. He turned the key over. Kurapika blinked; there was almost no sound, but he could feel the purr of the engine vibrating through his feet.

Of course. Of _course_ these kids had ties to the underground racing world. Why _wouldn’t_ they?

“You don’t drive this, do you, Killua?” Kurapika asked as the teen started flipping a series of switches inconspicuously hidden behind the steering wheel.

Killua snorted. “‘Course not. That would be fun. Dear old dad couldn’t let _that_ happen to his precious heir.”

Kurapika nodded at the scathing remark. “Kalluto?”

“I was trained in wetwork,” Kalluto shared.

Kurapika blinked, taking that in. Child Kalluto. Trained in wetwork. Twelve-year-old Kalluto. An assassin.

“I see,” Kurapika said, and he made a mental note to find these kids a trauma therapist the second he woke up tomorrow, supposing they all lived through the night. “So who taught you to drive?”

Killua grinned, predatory and sharp-toothed. “A butler I called granny.”

He floored the gas, and Kurapika’s back pressed flush to his seat. The air through the open windows rustled his hair, his robes, and Kurapika peered down the incline of the city to take in the distant port.

_Hang on, Leorio,_ Kurapika prayed, _I’m coming._

~

Warehouse 12 looked exactly like every single other warehouse that lined the wharf. The only thing that set it apart, according to Nanika’s intelligence, was the number of people inside of it. Up from the standard “zero” was an assortment of some fifteen guards: ten patrolling the perimeter, five in the main open section. Nanika was very apologetic that she didn’t have more to share, speaking over Kurapika’s insistence that it was fine because all of this was very illegal and irresponsible, _never_ do this again, please.

“This is pretty tame, all things considered,” Killua hummed as he parked the car into an out-of-the way alley. Kurapika internally screeched.

“I know you’re baiting me, and I will not fall for it,” he said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He twisted in his seat to glare at Killua and Kalluto. “I am going in, and you are going to _stay here._ Don’t you _dare_ get out of this car. If I catch wind of you anywhere near this warehouse -”

“God, we _get it, mom,”_ Killua groaned. He yanked the black knit cap off of his head to irritably run his hands through his hair. “We’ll stay in the car while you go save dad. Good luck, don’t die.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “And stay warm.”

“Do you even _hear_ yourself?” Killua called after him. Kurapika stepped outside and closed the door as quietly as he could. They had parked two streets away from the warehouse, and Kurapika scaled a nearby fire escape to make his approach. He picked his way across three different roofs, his steps light and his body crouched low.

“Time check, Nanika?” Kurapika breathed into the comms as he kneeled on the adjacent rooftop to Warehouse 12.

_“Thirty minutes,”_ she chirped. Kurapika heard the tell-tale popping sound of her opening her latest can of Mountain Dew. He frowned.

“Is this your third soda?” He asked.

_“It’s my second!”_ Nanika whined at the same time Alluka deadpanned, _“Her fourth.”_

_“Allie!”_

_“Nani.”_

“Ladies,” Kurapika warned, stopping the bickering before it started. “I only asked because I was concerned. Please add more water to your diet.”

_“Mom,”_ Killua stage-whispered.

_“Okay, Mr. Kurapika,”_ Nanika sighed. _“And the roof is clear… wait, no, we’ve got a passing guard.”_ And as Kurapika watched, a grunt dressed in nondescript, dark civilian clothes opened a door to the rest of the warehouse. He tilted his head side-to-side, stretching, and started his rounds over the roof.

Kurapika walked a few steps back. Took a deep breath. Then he started off at a run, his feet racing over the warehouse roof. He vaulted over the lip of the roof, his legs pumping through the air, and -

He landed on the guard’s back, legs around his waist and elbow around his neck. Kurapika twisted in his momentum, reducing the sound and the impact as they both hit the roof and rolled across dry, cracked shingles. He applied pressure to the grunt’s carotid, and moments later, the guard was out cold.

The comms were silent as Kurapika dug zip ties out of his pocket to fasten the grunt’s wrists and ankles together. From there, he attached the grunt’s wrists to a nearby pipe that ran the length of the roof. Lastly, he stripped the gun, tossing the pistol to one side of the roof and the cartridge to the other.

_“Thirty seconds to infiltrate,”_ Kalluto observed, humming in appreciation. _“You would have done well in our world, Mr. Kurapika.”_

If anyone knew how to respond to _that_ statement from a prepubescent, they were _welcome_ to tell Kurapika, because all he could think to say was, “I’ve needed to practice. And please don’t watch this.”

_“Too bad,”_ Killua said. _“Nanika’s in the security system, downloading things so the raw footage is saved. In case this all goes to shit and Chrollo tries to change the narrative. If you’re okay with us not knowing when you’re shot or knocked unconscious and need a getaway car, sure, but we thought we’d actually be useful instead of sit here in the car like some good little criminals -”_

“I get it,” Kurapika said through gritted teeth. “Thank you. I am switching to radio silence. Please only use the comms if it is an _emergency.”_

_“Yes, Kurapika,”_ the Zoldyck children chorused, and Kurapika switched the microphone off. He crept across the roof, slipping noiselessly through the door. He waited a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and to listen to the sounds he heard below him. The shuffle of footfalls, the murmur of voices, the sound of the occasional slap. The latter left Kurapika with his blood boiling helplessly in his veins.

But he would not be helpful to anyone if he went in with his metaphorical guns blazing. Instead he was forced to lurk in shadowy corners, striking hard and fast when guards passed him by. Nanika counted down the guards through the comms, and occasionally Killua and Kalluto called out warnings or comments on his technique.

At last, the guards on the upper floor were all incapacitated, their limbs tied up and their guns deconstructed. Slowly, Kurapika crawled to a shadowy overlook above the main area of the warehouse.

Crates and boxes had been pushed to the sides to create a makeshift open space. The thirty-by-thirty square foot area was papered over with tarp on the ground and lit via a series of construction lights.

In the middle of the tarp, in the spotlight created by the lights, sat Leorio. He looked battered and the worse for wear: his right eye swollen and puffy, his lip split and blood dribbling slowly down his chin. It dripped onto his shirt front. But he was sitting upright, his head held high as he glared at the man who stood above him.

“I will not ask again,” Chrollo was saying. “What is Bloody Chain’s identity?”

“And I won’t _tell_ you again,” Leorio snapped. _“I don’t know.”_

There was the sharp sound of skin against skin as Chrollo backhanded Leorio. His head snapped to follow the movement, lessening the momentum, though Chrollo’s signet spider ring left a cherry-red welt over the doctor’s cheek.

Leorio winced. His tongue darted out to worry at his split lip. “You know, you’re getting better at those.”

“Please shut up,” Chrollo said, wiping his bloodied fingers with a handkerchief. “Do you truly think I am so stupid that I would believe you? Or are _you_ truly so naive and foolish that you would allow yourself in that vigilante’s orbit and not even know his name?”

“Ma always said my big heart would get me in trouble,” Leorio replied. He chuckled, adding, “And who’s the stupid one here? You’re the one asking me the same question over and over and thinking a few weak-ass slaps will change my answer. I was more scared that time I was held up by two broke teens. ‘Sides…” He sent Chrollo a grin, wide and knowing and taunting. “There’s so many more ways to know someone than just their name. It’s a shame, really, that you’ve never seemed to find that.”

A pause. Chrollo’s lip curled into a sneer. “I will wipe that irritating smile right off of your face. Starting with that chipped tooth.”

He motioned for one of the grunts nearby to step forward, and that was when Kurapika leapt into action.

With the agile grace and bloodlust of a cat, he flipped over the second-floor railing and landed squarely on the shoulders of the guard who was walking toward Leorio. His chains were a frigid, welcome weight in his hands as he tangled them around the neck of the guard. Kurapika used his momentum to knock the guard off-balance, yanking him so that he flipped back. Kurapika sent him tumbling into the path of a second guard, and the two went down like bowling pins. A third guard ran for him; Kurapika dodged and ducked, wrapping his chains around the guard’s extended arm and twisting sharply. A sick crack filled the air, and Kurapika flicked the chains free and booted the guard in the chest to knock him back.

The fourth and fifth guards leapt into the fray. They were bulky, with at least five inches and forty pounds on him. Which made it easy for Kurapika to duck and weave around their slower swings, his chains rattling as he looped them around elbows and wrists and knees and used them to knock his attackers off-balance. From there it was easy to connect his fists into stomachs and sternums and noses, and in a matter of minutes, Kurapika kneeled in the middle of the last five incapacitated guards, his arms aloft and chains shining menacingly in the lights.

A hush fell over the room. From under his hood, Kurapika met Chrollo’s dead-eyed gaze. His pale skin was tinged red.

_Red._ Kurapika realized he had forgotten to put on his contacts. With his emotions running amok, his irises were the color of blood. Bright, brilliant scarlet glowed from under his hood. He no doubt looked like a demon from hell as he stood there, his robes billowing and chains flashing. He was Yorknew city’s reckoning come to collect.

He did not look at Leorio. He did not want the doctor to see him like this. Because this - _this_ was who he was. A vengeance-fueled vigilante, capable of jumping roofs and falling from second-story balconies onto men’s backs and snapping a man’s wrist like it was a pencil. He did not want to look at Leorio and see the moment that the doctor realized what monster he had allowed to touch him, to hold him and kiss him. To mark him.

“Looking good, Chain,” Leorio greeted, his voice raspy. “I like the new robes.”

“Will you _shut up?”_ Chrollo snarled at the doctor. He sent Leorio a glare, turning to Kurapika, who was still catching up to the fact that Leorio saw him incapacitate five men and immediately decided, _I am going to flirt with him right now and no one will stop me._ “Chain.”

“Chrollo,” Kurapika greeted. He rose fully to his feet, his robes flowing like water. His chains clinked together softly. “I am here. Let the doctor go.”

“Not quite yet,” Chrollo said. He studied Kurapika. “You’re shorter than I imagined.”

“Go to hell.”

“Get his ass, babe,” Leorio encouraged.

_“Oh my god, he’s a simp,”_ Killua mumbled through the comms.

_“Like recognizes like,”_ Kalluto added, even more quietly.

_“He’s trying to buy time, Mr. Kurapika,”_ Nanika said, suddenly jumping onto the comms. _“Allie’s picking up police chatter. There’s about to be a massive police presence in that area. You have maybe five minutes.”_

“I am not in a conversational mood, Chrollo,” Kurapika said. He stepped forward. “Nor am I interested in your villain monologue. The deal was clear. Me for him. I am here. Let him go, or you will not be walking out of here.”

“Hm.” Chrollo hummed thoughtfully. “You, or him.” He reached a hand into his pocket. “I pick both, actually.”

And he drew the gun from the inner lining of his pocket. Pointed it at Leorio. Fired.

Not even Kurapika was fast enough to jump in front of a bullet.

For as much as the world seemed to have slowed to a stop several times that day, now it felt like everything was moving so _fast._ Leorio was yelling; the kids were shouting on the comms; and Kurapika was flying, launching himself with an incoherent yell at Chrollo with every bit of wrath he had ever _felt_ and knocking the man back. Chrollo caught Kurapika’s fist, twisting his wrist as if to try and knock Kurapika off-balance. The attempt was laughable; Kurapika only twisted his body with the motion, lifting his knee to slam it into Chrollo’s stomach. Chrollo coughed roughly, and Kurapika shoved him back onto the ground. And then finally, _finally,_ Kurapika had his chains in his hands, the metal links pulled taut around Chrollo’s neck.

_This is for what you did to me,_ Kurapika thought. He tightened his grip and yanked, watching the veins flutter in Chrollo’s neck and face and his eyes bulge. _This is for every single day I became something I hated just to find you. This is for every single person I have hurt to get to you. This is for the people you failed, the city you failed. This is for my family. This is for me._

And Kurapika felt Chrollo’s hands slapping uselessly against his wrists, scratching the skin. Saw the fear in the man’s eyes. It should have left Kurapika feeling savagely pleased - now Chrollo knew what it felt like to be afraid. To feel helpless, powerless.

It should have. It didn’t.

Kurapika snarled, tugging the chains tighter. _Why_ wasn’t he enjoying this? Why wasn’t he satisfied? Why did he feel nothing?

At long last, after nearly fifteen years of studying and fighting and chasing, he had his revenge literally in his hands, and he felt _nothing._ Nothing but empty and cold and tired. Suddenly, as if the adrenaline that had propped him up all day suddenly drained from his system, Kurapika was more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. He was too tired to even be angry.

_If healing and closure is what you seek, Kurapika, I don’t know if you will find it on this road._

Kurapika’s gaze roamed. He looked away from the chains around Chrollo’s neck and followed them, studying the way they wrapped around and around the bruised, swollen knuckles on his own hands. His pale skin was smeared with drying blood, rust-red flakes peeling and flaking off to scatter over the ground like withered petals. At the end of the line, even the blood ran stale between Kurapika’s fingers. Nothing felt the way he had hoped it would.

And finally everything clicked into place. Kurapika was chained to this sick cycle of violence just as Chrollo was. He would never be satisfied as long as he chased this revenge, because revenge was never what he needed.

He needed closure. Acceptance. A new beginning. Peace.

_I don’t want this,_ Kurapika suddenly knew. He gasped in a breath and it felt like the first time he had breathed in years. _I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to live for my anger anymore. I want to be more than this. I want more than this. There has to be something more than this._

And as the rage slipped out of him, sense finally returned. Leorio, groaning faintly, curled in his chair as if he could staunch the bleeding if he twisted his knee up at just the right absurd angle. The kids yelling through the comms, warning him about the incoming police raid.

_The kids,_ Kurapika remembered, and he thought he might be sick. The kids. The cameras. _The kids are watching this._

The kids were watching the only adult they had in their life to look up to, who they trusted to protect them, attempt to kill someone in front of them.

He almost choked. He was no better than their parents.

Kurapika dropped the chains, and Chrollo heaved in a gasp. He coughed roughly, hands going to his throat to soothe the perfect bruises of chain-link that wound like a scarf around his neck. Kurapika quickly knotted the chains around the man’s hands and legs. Then he reached for the gun.

“Finishing me off, Chain?” Chrollo asked. His voice sounded like he had swallowed gravel, his throat shredded. He perked up his head as he heard police sirens whining in the distance. They were coming closer. “Do you think you can kill me and get away before they arrive?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said baldly. He lifted the gun, latched on the safety, loosened the catch that secured the bullets in place. He dropped the gun to the floor and threw the bullets aside. “But I’m not going to find out. You’re going to get justice, Chrollo. That’s a promise. It won’t be just for me alone.”

Kurapika turned away, ignoring whatever Chrollo was trying to reply, and he made his way to Leorio. He knelt in front of him, using a pocket knife to untie his hands and feet. Then he yanked at the suit Chrollo had tossed aside at the start of their fight and pressed it gently to Leorio’s stomach to staunch the bleeding.

“Can you hear me?” He asked, trying to keep calm and not panic. Up close, Leorio looked awful, his handsome face pale and bruised and bloody. Kurapika reached up with gentle fingers and ran them over his jaw. “Leorio, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He tried to take a breath and coughed over it. Feebly, his hands reached up to cover Kurapika’s where they were applying pressure to the wound. “I can hear you, Chain.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika heard himself repeating, over and over like a mantra. “Leorio, I am so sorry, I am _so sorry_ I got you wrapped into this -”

“Chain, it’s…” Leorio hissed in pain. “I’m fine, really. The bullet was a through-and-through. Idiot can’t even aim. You have to go.”

“I’m _not_ leaving!” Kurapika exploded, glaring up at Leorio. Their eyes met, brown to red. Softer, but more fiercely, Kurapika said, “I will not leave you.”

“You need to,” Leorio told him. “They’ll catch you.”

“I don’t care,” Kurapika argued. “Let them. I don’t care anymore.”

“I do,” Leorio said. “Chain.” Kurapika did not reply. “Chain, _look at me.”_

Weakly, Kurapika lifted his head. Leorio was leaning over in exhaustion, his forehead inches from Kurapika’s. Overcome, Kurapika pressed his forehead to Leorio’s, overwhelmingly grateful to feel the heat of his skin and feel the shudder of his pained breaths.

_He’s alive,_ Kurapika told himself. _He’s alright, he’s alive, he’s safe._

“You need to go, Chain,” Leorio repeated. “Because everyone tied to this place is going to be arrested, and you still have work to do.”

Kurapika blinked at him. Did Leorio know he worked for the city? Did he guess that he was a lawyer? Did he know his identity? But he couldn’t. There was no way he would accept Chrollo’s beat-down if he didn’t have to. No one would.

“The ambulances are coming,” Leorio said. “I’m going to be okay. Lay low for a while, alright? I’ll reach out when I can.”

“Please, don’t,” Kurapika said softly. He pulled his hand from Leorio’s face, the realization sinking into his stomach like lead. “How can you say that? After all of this… it would be better if we never meet again, Leorio.”

“Is that what you want?” Leorio asked. To the man kneeling before him covered in his blood and staunching his wounds. As if there was even an infinitesimal chance that the answer could be yes, in any universe.

But one thing Kurapika had learned in his time as a prosecutor was the power of a lie.

“Yes,” Kurapika breathed. He lied and he felt his heart crack in half with it. He lied and he felt the rest of his world come to a halt.

But then there was the sound of tires screeching to a halt over asphalt. Sirens blaring. An officer demanding over loudspeaker to come out with their hands in the air.

There was Leorio pressing his forehead to Kurapika’s, his nose brushing his cheek, their breath mingling. Close enough to kiss. Kurapika was never going to hold this man again. He choked down the full-body horror of that realization, making his peace with it. Centimeters away, he heard Leorio’s ragged sigh and knew he was doing the same thing.

Was he worse for running away? Or would it be worse if he chose to stay?

“You should go, then,” Leorio whispered.

Kurapika swallowed hard. Then he pulled away, sprinting blindly through the warehouse to the side exit.

Then -

“Freeze! Hands up!”

Kurapika wanted to laugh. He had never thought he would be on the receiving end of one of Morel’s shouts. His bellowing voice echoed in the alleyway. From the sound of two guns cocking, it sounded like Mizai was there, too.

Slowly, Kurapika lifted his hands. His head hung in defeat. He was too tired to fight anymore. It was over. It was over, and he had won, and lost and lost and lost.

“Sergeant!” Morel suddenly yelled. _“Sergeant!”_

A warm weight suddenly flung itself against Kurapika’s side. Reflexively, he dropped one hand, turning and patting Sergeant Pupper over the head and scratching her behind the ears just where she liked it. Sergeant Pupper panted happily, her tail wagging excitedly over the ground.

“Sergeant?” Morel said, his tone blatantly confused. Realization and recognition dawned on his face as he took in Kurapika’s appearance - his build, the Kurta robes, Sergeant Pupper’s cheerful, familiar greeting.

For a long, long minute, the three men stood in the alley simply staring at each other. If Kurapika hadn’t just ripped his own heart and lungs out of his chest of his own volition, it might have been funny.

_“Mizai, what’s your status? Is the side street cleared?”_

Kurapika met Mizai’s gaze from under his hood as the man reached for the walkie-talkie pinned to his lapel.

“We’re all clear here,” Mizai intoned. “False alarm. Heading back your way.”

He dropped his hand. Sergeant Pupper returned to her master’s side, beaming her dog-grin like she had done a particularly good job.

Kurapika swallowed. His voice was very soft and very broken as he said, “Thank you, detectives.”

And he leapt up the fire escape, back to his colder life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T BE MAD i decided to split the last chapter i wrote into 2 parts, the second of which will be up later today!!! i promise!!!!
> 
> as always, feel free to hmu on tumblr @notantherwritingblog! i'll see y'all later today!!


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes bad things fall apart so good things can fall together.
> 
> CW for some references to mental health issues (guilt and self-blame) and the events of last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing this: i am going to try and speedrun the full spectrum of human emotion in 11k words.
> 
> this was SO FUN to write. thank you, thank you all, for reading! to everyone who has clicked on this, who has left a comment or kudos, to those beloved lurkers - thank you for sharing in this with me!! please enjoy this final installement 💖

## 

part 8.

Kurapika had the week off.

Not by choice, however. The arrest of half of the city’s legal infrastructure - the district attorney; two of the three assistant district attorneys; several assistants; the head of the forensics lab; the head coroner; and several detectives were all named in an enormous bust that dominated the papers and 24-hour news cycles. Add to that the sting arrest of Commissioner Silva Zoldyck, his wife, and their two eldest sons, and the entire city was on the verge of rioting. News of Pariston Hill’s arrest, while just as important and shocking, did not even make the front page.

Bisky must have stayed up for three days straight writing about it, if the way her name graced almost every article covering the scandal was an indication. Kurapika read them all, watched all of the coverage on his computer sitting at his desk. He texted Bisky to congratulate her on a job well done and asked, mostly joking, if she would invite him to the ceremony when she received her next Pulitzer.

Bisky replied with her usual brusqueness and congratulated him for completing his quest. Kurapika never replied, because he did not feel that he had much to be proud of.

That was not quite true. He was proud of the work he, Melody, and Detectives Morel and Mizai had put in. He was proud to kickstart the long, ugly, painful process of clearing the detritus from the city’s political, legal, and economic infrastructure. He was proud that the Zoldyck children were still together, still safe, even if their protective detail still lived with them. He was proud that they had been assigned a family law caseworker who was walking them through the emancipation paperwork. There was a long road ahead of those children with the coming trials of their extended family. But in many ways, their long nightmare was over.

But Kurapika still spent the first few days of his time off utterly miserable. It was like a dark rain cloud had taken up permanent residence over his head, blotting out the last of the autumn sun as winter rolled in. It was like there was a hole in the middle of his chest where his heart had been. It was somehow worse than before all of this started and ended, because back then Kurapika had his quest to spur him on, even as that left him angry and exhausted and, on his worst days, hopeless. But now he was just… empty. Listless.

Kurapika did not take this time to sit around and feel sorry for himself. He grew rather bored of that by one o’clock on the first day. So he decided to deep-clean his apartment, which he had allowed to fester in… not _squalor,_ but _disorder,_ for the past several months (years). He deep-cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, swept and vacuumed, washed all of his blankets and sheets. That kept him busy until seven o’clock that evening.

At seven-thirty, he received a text from Melody. _Have you eaten dinner yet?_

Kurapika sighed, turning away from the livestream of the news he had pulled up on his computer. He assumed Melody would not count the apple he had ingested at six “dinner,” so he replied, _No, not yet._

A few moments later the intercom to the building buzzed. Kurapika startled slightly, scowling at the intercom. He stepped over to it, pressing down on the button. “Hello?”

_“I brought soup,”_ Melody’s voice rang through the intercom. _“Buzz me up?”_

As if Kurapika would leave her in the cold. He hit the button to unlock the main door and a few moments later opened his apartment for Melody. She smiled up at him as she wiggled past him.

“You cleaned,” she observed cheerfully, stepping across the room to the tiny galley kitchen with the air of someone familiar in her surroundings. Melody did not tend to come by often - just for major cases that required some form of around-the-clock attention, or for meetings that they could not risk having overheard. She settled the bag onto the tiny circular table in the kitchen. “It’s nice.”

“It’s not _that_ surprising,” Kurapika said mildly. Melody flashed him a mischievous grin over her shoulder as she pulled out the soup cartons.

“It’s just an observation,” Melody said. She watched as Kurapika took his seat across from Melody and opened his container.

“You got my favorite,” Kurapika observed. He swirled his spoon through the chicken-and-orzo tomato soup. Absurdly, he wondered what Leorio’s favorite soup was. Then he remembered those last few moments - _“Is that what you want?” “Yes.”_ \- all over again, and that sick, hollow feeling returned to his stomach. In lieu of laying his forehead on the table like the dramatic, miserable prick he was, he moodily ate a spoonful.

Melody was watching him with considering eyes. Kurapika forced a smile. “Thank you, Melody. You have been so kind to me these past few years. Please, tell me if there is anything I can do to show you my appreciation.”

Melody smiled. “That’s what friends are for, Kurapika. We help each other.” She took a bite of her beef stew. “But, if you’re going to insist…”

The little strategist. Kurapika had thought a time or two over the past few years that Melody would have made a formidable presence in the underworld. His smile was a touch more genine as he asked, “And what would you like?”

Melody lifted her hand to tick her requests off her stubby fingers. “One: I would like a promotion. Two: a thirty percent raise. And three -”

“I’m not sure I can deliver _either_ of those requests,” Kurapika warned her. “I will, of course, advocate for you to receive a long-overdue promotion and raise to Mayor Netero when we meet to discuss recent events.”

“You are persuasive; I’m satisfied,” Melody announced. Then, smirking, she held up her third finger. “Three: you will come with me to visit Leorio in the hospital tomorrow.”

Kurapika stiffened. The thought of seeing Leorio right now was painful. True, Bloody Chain saying it was best that they not meet again did not mean that Kurapika could not see him. But to exploit such a loophole felt dishonest and manipulative. Moreover, Kurapika knew that Chain needed to lay low for a while or vanish altogether. Chrollo must have left contingencies in place in case his plans did not fall together as he hoped.

No, it was best… _safest…_ for all involved if Kurapika simply made a clean break of it. Deleted Leorio’s phone number. Found a new coffee shop.

But Melody had put life and limb on the line for him for _years._ And Kurapika was too weak and selfish to stay away, even when he knew he should.

Which was why Kurapika found himself standing beside Melody the next morning at ten o’clock on the dot to check in for visitor’s hours. He was grateful for the take-out mugs in his hand - one his own coffee, the other a hot chocolate - because it kept his fingers from anxiously fidgeting. Fortunately, however, they were not alone in the check-in line. They ran into the Zoldyck siblings and Gon as they rode up in the elevator. Gon held an enormous vase of sunflowers in his arms, while the Zoldycks came bearing homemade cookies and a gift-store teddy bear. They made Kurapika look self-consciously down at the lukewarm drinks in his hands. But it was far too late to do anything about it as the elevator let them off on their floor. Gon raced ahead, as he was already familiar with these long hallways; he had taken off of work to spend time with him in the hospital, he chattered in that overeager way of his that Kurapika just now realized was covering up his anxiety over the entire situation.

Of course he was anxious and worried: in the span of just a few weeks, he had fallen in with a wonderful but dysfunctional family; the closest thing he had to a parent or guardian had been kidnapped, beaten, and shot; and the parents of his best-friend-slash-boyfriend(?) had been arrested in the biggest sting in the history of Yorknew. Kurapika would be a bit on edge, too, if he were Gon.

Which was why he hung back as Gon raced into Leorio’s hospital room. He presented Leorio with his vase and set the flowers on the bedside table next to the doctor. Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto raced after Gon in quick succession. Melody and Killua followed at a more sedate pace so as not to overwhelm the patient, and Kurapika found himself standing, feet rooted to the floor, on the threshold of the room.

Given recent events, Leorio had been given a private room and a round-the-clock protective detail, which Kurapika had no doubt the doctor thought was completely unnecessary. The windowsill was lined with nearly two dozen get-well-soon cards, each signed several times over, and three more bouquets, all in cheerful shades of yellow. Gon was seated on the bed near Leorio’s hip, the twins near his feet, Kalluto and Melody in the two visitor’s chairs.

And finally, Kurapika made himself look at Leorio.

He was sitting up on his own, which was an excellent sign. He looked tired, pale, a little pinched, with dark circles under his eyes. But those dark eyes were bright with life and cheer, and his smile was genuine as he opened the travel tin and took a bite of chocolate chip cookies. He insisted they all share, because people kept sending him sweets, which was very nice but he couldn’t eat _all_ of them, and they were meant to be shared anyway, weren’t they? Here, please, take some, Melody, Killua, you too…

And Kurapika watched in wonder as the man he had thrown into harm’s way, had gotten kidnapped and beaten and nearly killed, who even now was wearing a pair of sweatpants and an open shirt over his wrapped, bandaged stomach, sat upright and smiled and laughed and shared cookies with the children who loved him. Because _he_ was the one hurt, and all Leorio wanted was to make sure _they_ were comfortable, that _they_ were happy, that _they_ knew he was going to be okay.

And Kurapika needed to hold his breath and count to ten, because the emotions that were roaring through his chest were crashing with the power and inevitability of the rising tide. His throat was closing up and his eyes stung and his lungs were being squeezed because this was a horrible idea, a terrible idea, he should never have come, because at that moment Kurapika knew with every ounce of brilliance in his mind and speck of light in his soul that _he could have loved this man._

Kurapika could have loved him. He could have fallen in love with Leorio as easily and naturally as breathing, because in that moment it felt just as necessary as the air in his lungs. But it was more than that - not only _could_ he have loved Leorio, but he _wanted_ to love him. He wanted to cross the room and brush his ungelled bangs away from his face and kiss him and tell him that he needed to get some rest. He wanted to sit in the tantalizing last bit of free space on Leorio’s bed and curl up into his side, lay his head on Leorio’s chest and listen to his heart beating and know he was still here. He wanted to build a home with him, full of plants and life and laughter and bickering and fall asleep next to him and wake up arguing more about hogged blankets and morning breath and make him coffee and fill out the crossword. He wanted a life with Leorio.

Leorio’s last words to him that night came back to him again as Leorio’s gaze swept through the room and landed, blinking and startled into silence, on him.

_Is that what you want?_

“Kurapika?”

Kurapika forced himself to smile and prayed the expression did not look as pained as it felt.

_Yes._

He crossed the threshold. “Leorio. You seem… well. All things considered.”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it. Ran a hand through his hair. “I, ah. I didn’t expect you to come.”

That made sense. They only spoke to one another in the context of fetching their morning coffee and, once, as pseudo-guardians chaperoning a date-slash-playdate. Were they even friends? The one time Leorio had reached out to ask for anything bordering on more, trying to exchange numbers, Kurapika had run for the hills as quickly as his legs could carry him.

“I see,” Kurapika said. “I can leave, if you prefer?”

“No!” Leorio cried. He coughed to clear his throat. “That is. It’s fine, just unexpected. I expected you to be… busy. With… things.”

Oh. Of course. Leorio must have seen the news. The city in turmoil, Mayor Netero announcing that he had contracted an international policing agency to assist him in investigating the corruption among the city’s ranks. The unsubstantiated rumors swirling around that, with no one else available to lift the mantle and his renown for spearheading the investigation into Chrollo, that Kurapika was slated to be the next district attorney.

“I wanted to see that you were okay,” Kurapika said softly. He flexed his fingers and remembered belatedly that he, too, had come bearing a gift. He internally winced in embarrassment. What did he have to offer but a lukewarm hot chocolate and even more half-assed well-wishes? He stepped across the room, stopping behind Melody and offering the take-out mug. “I, ah. Brought you this.” As Leorio reached for it, he added, “It’s hot chocolate. Not coffee. I wasn’t sure if you were allowed coffee.”

“I’m not,” Leorio said. He accepted the mug, careful to ensure there was minimal contact between their fingers. “Good thinking.”

“Thanks.” This was a mistake. Why did he do this? This was cruel. Not just to him, but to Leorio as well. Who was looking up at him with those brown eyes and that tiny, half-hopeful and half-wistful smile. Time seemed to both stretch and compress as they held each other’s gaze. At last, he broke their eye contact and took a step back.

“Well. Ah. I should… that is…”

“I’ll be right back,” Killua suddenly announced loudly. Everyone startled from the sudden noise as he spoke. His sneakers squeaked on the tiled floors as he practically spun in place to march out the doors.

Well. It was probably not the excuse Killua meant to offer, but Kurapika was desperate enough to take it.

“I’ll check on him,” Kurapika said in a rush. “Excuse me.”

He walked to the door. His hand caught on the door jamb as he tried to cross the threshold, as if his entire body knew that this was good-bye and was rioting, protesting the idea of walking away from Leorio for the last time and not even looking back at him. Like the hopeless, pining, stupid asshole he was.

Kurapika had known this man would break his heart. And he had gone and let it happen anyway. He wouldn’t change a thing.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Late autumn sunlight was streaming through the blinds, illuminating Leorio’s tan skin, his dark hair, the brown eyes behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. The skin of his collarbones and upper chest above the starched white bandages. Surrounded by well-wishers and people who loved him. If this was the last time he would see him, Kurapika wanted to remember Leorio just like this.

He smiled. “Be well, Leorio.”

He left before Leorio could reply. He avoided the security escort’s gaze as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, marching down the hallway. The elevators were in the middle of the floor, but Kurapika could not handle the idea of standing in that ten-by-ten foot box with other people at that moment. Instead, he shoved open the door to the staircase, turning his steps downwards. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. He did not care.

Except at the bottom of the stairwell, sitting on the second step so he could stretch out his legs, head bowed, sat Killua. At the sound of his approaching footsteps, Killua jerked upright, scrubbing his sweater sleeve over his cheeks.

“Killua?” Kurapika asked tentatively. He walked slowly down the stairs. Killua did not look up at him. “Is something wrong?”

Killua snorted. “Take a guess, Kurapika.”

“That’s fair,” Kurapika conceded. He stepped past Killua to stop on the landing below him and kneeled down. Up close, Killua looked terrible: pale and almost as drawn as Leorio, with purple, bruise-like bags below his eyes. He looked how Kurapika felt. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I fucking wouldn’t like to _talk about it,”_ Killua snapped waspishly. His voice cracked, but even through the viciousness of the words and the sneer that curled his lips, his blue eyes simply looked so, so tired and so, so sad. And guilty. This kid could never play poker, Kurapika thought. He’d never win a hand.

“Hm,” Kurapika hummed. He tilted his head, taking in the teen’s defensive body language. Part of him wanted to say, _I don’t think that’s true._ But that was something a prosecutor would say, and Killua did not need that right now. Kurapika didn’t feel much like a prosecutor at that moment, in any case. He sighed. “That’s understandable. If you need to speak to someone, however, I am… always here to listen.”

Killua gave no sign that he had heard him. With another silent sigh, Kurapika turned to leave. But before he could take a step, Killua suddenly burst out, “I’m so _sorry.”_

_That_ gave Kurapika pause. Confused, he turned back to Killua. The teen was looking up at him now, blue eyes wide and watering. He was biting his lower lip so hard it turned white to stop it from trembling. Kurapika kneeled back down in front of him.

“Why are you sorry, Killua?” Kurapika asked, utterly confused. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kurapika,” Killua snarled. He angrily scrubbed at his face. “I’m not a kid. I don’t want or need your stupid platitudes. None of this would have happened if I had just kept my mouth shut.”

“None of what?” Kurapika asked.

“None of - of this!” Killua waved his arms as if to indicate, _everything._ “Leorio was kidnapped! Tortured! _Shot!_ And he’s just some civilian idiot who never needed to be pulled into this. He wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t - and, and Gon! He’s terrified and confused and I want to tell him why this is happening, but then he’ll know that this was all my fault and he’ll hate me forever and never talk to me again, and I don’t want to lose him! And our parents are in jail, but you know the second they make bail they’re going to do everything they can to make our lives hell - they’re going to try and drag us back home, and then everything is going to be _worse_ than before, they’re going to lock away Alluka and Nanika and they’ll make Kalluto finish their training, and they’ll make me into their perfect little puppet Commissioner to hold up the family legacy, and they’ll make Gon and Leorio and Bisky and you disappear, and, and…” He heaved in a gasp, his hands flying up to cover his face. His shoulders shuddered like leaves blowing in a storm, but his sobs were soundless.

Kurapika found himself frozen, utterly terrified at the sight of a shattering Killua weeping noiselessly in front of him. He was - he had no idea how to handle this. Kurapika, who was so emotionally stupid that he needed to resort to vigilantism and topple a city’s legal infrastructure and almost kill a man and _still_ not work his way through his feelings. He parsed through Killua’s word vomit of fear, panic, guilt, trying to sort out what to even reply to first - the concern for his siblings’ safety? The lingering fear of his parents? The terror of losing Gon if he learned Killua’s sordid history? The guilt of Leorio’s injury?

The guilt. And suddenly, Kurapika knew what to say.

“Killua,” Kurapika said, and he was as surprised as Killua to hear his voice come out of his mouth sounding patient and kind. “Killua. Please look at me.”

Killua picked up his head. He parted his fingers so that his watery eyes could meet Kurapika’s. He said, “This was not your fault.”

Killua glared. “Fuck _off,_ Kurapika.”

“No,” He insisted gently. “I won’t. This was not your fault, Killua. You did not put Leorio or Gon in danger.” _The fault is mine. I will carry it so you don’t have to. Please, let me carry this instead._ “It was your courage that prompted you to reach out.”

“Courage,” Killua repeated acidly. “I didn’t do anything. Bisky had some interview questions for the family, and dad thought I could use the practice. She just put two and two together and said she’d have a friend reach out to me. I did nothing. I’m just a coward. A stupid, pathetic coward.”

“You still answered the phone,” Kurapika reminded him. “You went to the restaurant. You made the deal that got your siblings out. You trusted Canary, Amane, Morel, Mizai, and me to keep you all safe. You have been so brave, Killua. And nothing that has happened has been your fault.”

Killua’s lip wobbled. “But -”

“No buts,” Kurapika interrupted, stern but compassionate. “You carry enough on your shoulders. You don’t need to add things that are not your responsibility. Your siblings love you and look up to you. Gon cares deeply for you. I cannot picture a world where Leorio would blame you for his injuries. This is not your fault, Killua.”

Killua swallowed. Rubbed at his raw, red eyes as more tears came. He hiccuped slightly as he asked, “Kurapika? Do you… have anywhere to go?”

“No,” Kurapika said slowly.

“Then, is it okay if you… Will you sit with me for a bit?” Killua asked softly.

For the first time since he left Leorio at the warehouse days ago, Kurapika felt something like warmth spark up again behind his breastbone. He bit down the small smile that feeling gave him the best he could.

“Sure, Killua,” Kurapika said, moving to sit beside Killua on the steps. “As long as you want.”

~

The inquest into the Zoldyck-Lucifer investigation lasted nearly two full weeks. Kurapika went to the mayor’s office at the top of the courthouse at nine o’clock in the morning and left at precisely five o’clock in the afternoon. He finally got a haircut and wore his best suits and ties and kept his head down and murmured “no comment” to the reporters as he passed by. He gave Bisky Krueger no more attention than he gave any other journalist or newscaster demanding answers.

Kurapika went to the mayor’s office and sat between Detectives Mizai and Morel and painstakingly explained every step of their investigation. They were careful to minimize the childrens’ involvement in the process, and Kurapika cited the law that kept informants anonymous and protected when Mayor Netero asked who had put him in contact with Killua Zoldyck. The other board members of the inquest - an irritated, exhausted-looking Judge Botobai and two representatives of the agency contracted to clean up their mess, the pensive Saccho Kobayakawa and the cheerful, pink-skirted woman who had introduced herself as Pyon - had looked on with varying levels of annoyance and confusion.

Kurapika only sat between his allies, one leg crossed over the other and his hands folded neatly in his lap, and silently dared them to fight him on this. What did he have left to lose?

But the inquest wrapped up with minimal bloodshed and little yelling. A week later, Kurapika and the detectives were cleared of any and all suspected wrongdoing. The next day, Kurapika got the call he had been waiting for: he had been promoted to district attorney for Yorknew City. He was to start the first of December, in another week.

“Thank you, Mayor Netero,” Kurapika said. “You know, with the coming struggles of rebuilding our system and running these trials, I’m going to need a stellar team at my side. May I make some recommendations?”

A day later he received a text.

_ADA Melody has an excellent ring to it,_ Melody wrote. _And the raise doesn’t hurt, either. Thank you, Kurapika._

_Of course,_ Kurapika answered. _It was your request, and an eminently reasonable one. Such advancement was long overdue. I look forward to continuing to work together._

_And I! We should celebrate,_ Melody replied. _After I finish my impromptu vacation._ This text accompanied a truly adorable selfie of Melody sitting on a white, sandy beach, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, heart-shaped sunglasses, and lifting a glass full of cherry-red liquid complete with a fruit skewer and umbrella. Kurapika had just finished laughing at the picture and saving it as Melody’s contact picture when she messaged him again.

_Have you enjoyed a few moments of peace during this time off?_

And the laughter died.

_Had_ he? He had watched the news. Gotten one of those streaming services on his computer and tried a few shows that people had been telling him he needed to see for years. He went on walks through the city, bundled up in his jacket and scarf and gloves, trying a new coffee shop every other day.

(They all lacked something. He did not like the coffee at one, the pastries or sandwiches at others, the ambiance and noise in a fifth, the prices at a sixth. None of them had a cheerful, smiling Gon greeting customers at the register; a snarky, sleep-deprived Killua to loudly call out customers by the wrong name; a charming, warm Leorio to scold for cheating at the crossword.)

_I’ve tried,_ Kurapika messaged. It was the most honest thing he could have said. That text seemed to placate Melody, who left it at that and returned to her tropical paradise.

Bisky demanded a sit-down interview the moment she learned that Kurapika would be the new DA. She spouted off things like “optics” and “politics” and “public image” that Kurapika was too tired and bored and lonely to critique, so he simply agreed and met Bisky at their usual place at their usual time. Their interview lasted nearly three hours and Kurapika had five cups of terrible diner coffee and he remembered absolutely none of it.

He needed to get back to work. He needed to _do something._ He wanted to reach out to the Zoldyck kids, but he wanted to give them some space to process what had happened with their parents and Leorio (what they had seen him do on the security cameras). He received periodic updates from Morel and Mizai about their well-being. The Zoldyck siblings were choosing to stay in the safe house as they put the grand estate on the market. With the elder Zoldycks deemed extreme flight risks, their bail had been denied. Killua Zoldyck returned to his community college classes. The Zoldyck children started attending one of the private schools in the city, going to classes with kids their own ages for the first time in their lives. They started seeing the therapist Kurapika reached out to, the shy and soft-spoken but immensely kind Dr. Palm Siberia, who reported the children were responding well in the short time since she had started working with them.

In short, everything seemed to be falling into place as everyone moved on with their lives. Just as Kurapika anticipated. Just as Kurapika _hoped._ He told himself this was what he worked for, time and time again. This was what he wanted, these children healthy and happy and together. It did not matter if he was miserable. Their safety and contentment and healing was worth the temporary pain and the sting of loneliness.

Kurapika told himself this was what he had wanted, and he tried to believe it.

Everything was falling into place, which was why, of course, everything needed to fall apart again.

It started with a text.

Kurapika was just finishing making himself dinner - a real dinner, not takeout and not instant noodles - his curry bubbling cheerfully on the stove and his computer playing the third season of a terrible, addictive investigation show, when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Kurapika pulled it out, casually, thoughtlessly. Read the caller ID. Nearly dropped his phone in the tomato paste.

_**Dr. Leorio Paladiknight, 6:26pm. 3 Unread Messages.** _

He should not have opened the text. He should have deleted the message unread. He should have deleted Leorio’s phone number weeks ago (he should have never _saved_ it in the first place). They had neither seen nor spoken to each other in nearly a month.

With shaking fingers, Kurapika unlocked his cellphone and read:

_Chain. This is Leorio. In case you deleted my number or don’t have it saved._

_I know it’s been a while, and that we agreed not to see each other or communicate again. But I don’t like the way we left things. Everything was too rushed and panicked the last time we saw each other. I’m not asking you to change your mind, I’m just. I don’t even know. I’d like to at least clear the air and talk before we keep on never seeing each other again._

_If you’re alright with that, I’ll be on the roof of the clinic tonight at 9pm. 72 Main, if you forgot. Maybe I’ll see you there. If not, I’ll know your answer. And it’ll be okay. Take care of yourself, Chain._

Kurapika read the messages about eight times. Leorio wanted to talk to him. Leorio wanted to see him again. Maybe he wanted the chance to tear into Chain for getting him into that mess in person. Maybe he had missed Chain even a _little bit_ as much as Kurapika had. Maybe it was a trap. It was definitely a stupid, terrible idea to go. Cruel to both Leorio and himself to dredge up the hurt again.

But Kurapika _missed_ Leorio. It was an ache as constant and fierce as if he had cracked his ribs again. And it _did_ feel like they had left things unfinished when he ran out on him in the warehouse. After everything Leorio had suffered, after everything he had given, the least he could do was hear him out.

_Maybe I’ll see you there,_ Leorio had written, as if he had no idea that Kurapika would appear whenever and wherever he needed him.

Which was why at nine o’clock that night, it was with light steps that Kurapika balanced at the edge of the 72 Main Street roof. To his surprise, the roof was not dark and solitary as he anticipated. The roof was lined with a series of troughs full of withered plants and dry, cracked soil. White string lights illuminated the rooftop garden with a warm glow. And standing under those lights, next to a series of holiday displays, stood Leorio. His color had returned, and he looked as handsome as Kurapika had ever seen him. His gray coat fitted his shoulders. His red scarf _(red,_ Kurapika loved the color on him, he suddenly realized with a completely inappropriate rush of _want_ that he fought to quash). His cheeks were flushed and eyes bright from the cold. His hair was ungelled, bangs combed back from his forehead but falling around his face anyway.

For a few moments, Kurapika could only stand and stare. His irises went red from the bevy of emotions - sadness, longing, desire, regret. A mix that Kurapika did his best to sublimate when Leorio caught sight of his form.

“You came,” he observed.

Kurapika nodded once. He stepped off the roof lip to move closer. “You asked.”

Leorio shrugged, a self-conscious smile on his lips. “Didn’t mean you needed to. I thought the request came across as a bit whiny, looking back.”

“It didn’t,” Kurapika said softly. He ran a gloved hand over the embroidery on his tunic. “I think after everything I put you through, the request was quite reasonable.”

Leorio nodded. Kurapika saw him run his gaze over him. With a small grin, he said, “You know, I meant it when I said I liked the new look. Are they traditional Kurta robes?”

Kurapika nodded, just as awkward as Leorio’s movements. It seemed that now they were face to face, neither knew where to go from here. “They are.”

“Did your family make them?” Leorio asked. “I remember you said your family owned a shop and that you made clothes.”

“You remembered?” Kurapika repeated. This conversation was not off to an auspicious start, if he could only seem to process every other sentence Leorio said to him.

“Of course I did,” Leorio said. He looked at him with such open, obvious warmth. Kurapika wanted to run and run and never look back. Because that had gotten him so far.

“Leorio,” Kurapika started. “I must apologize to you.”

Leorio blinked. “I - okay? I kinda had a thing, and you don’t have anything to apologize for, but if you really need to get it off your chest.”

“I do,” Kurapika said. He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, I know you called me here because you needed to speak. But I fear if I don’t say this now I will be too cowardly to ever say it.”

“Chain…” Leorio started, but Kurapika dove in.

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika said in a rush. “I’m sorry that I pulled you into this. I’m sorry that I asked you to risk life and limb to heal me, I’m sorry that I was so careless in my actions to pull you into my mess -”

“Chain,” Leorio tried again.

“-and you were kidnapped, and tortured, and nearly killed, and I was unable to do anything to help you. I am sorry that you had to see me at my lowest, as just a monster of a man driven by rage and hurt, and I am sorry I just _left you there -”_

“Kurapika.”

“-and if anything had happened to you, I truly do not know that I could have forgiven myself. I am livid at myself and I cannot imagine you are less angry or disappointed. I am sorry, Leorio, truly, I am _so sorry_ that this happened, and -”

_“Kurapika!”_

The shout finally broke through his rambling, half-panicked apology. He blinked. He froze. He stared at Leorio, who was only looking at him.

Kurapika. He shouted _Kurapika._ Not Chain. Kurapika. He… Leorio… He… 

“You…” Kurapika’s voice was weak with shock. There was white static buzzing between his ears.

Leorio nodded. “That’s what I needed to tell you.”

“You knew,” Kurapika breathed. He felt so many emotions coursing through him he could not get a hold on any one. “You let Chrollo knock you around like that and you _knew?_ You _lied?”_

“Of course I did.” Leorio had the nerve to _shrug._ Like he hadn’t just completely shattered the last of the walls separating Kurapika’s two lives. “Chrollo wanted to kill you, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not while I had the power to stop him. And yeah, I knew. I mean… I’m a doctor. I’m kind of smart. And you were… kind of obvious?”

_“‘Kind of obvious?’”_ Kurapika repeated, half a screech and half a demand. Was this what having a heart attack felt like? Was he about to explode? Was this a bizarre nightmare-slash-dream, and he was going to wake up any moment miserable and alone but much less embarrassed?

“Well, not at first. But I was, ah, paying a lot of attention.” Leorio grinned, a bit sheepishly. He lifted a hand and, so help Kurapika, started _ticking off examples on his fingers._ “You both have the same build. You have the same eye shapes and the same lashes. You share the same stubborn personalities. You vanished from the coffee shop the exact week after Chain was beat to hell. You wouldn’t give me your phone number when I was pretty sure that you were into me.” He swallowed. “You and Chain looked at me the same way. You said my name the same way.”

Oh. Oh, so _this_ was how Kurapika was going to die. He was going to have a massive stroke or he was going to turn and take a running leap off of the roof to escape this mortification. Kurapika was shocked, angry, relieved - he wanted to _scream._

_“Why,”_ Kurapika demanded, _“Why_ did you not tell me this? How long have you suspected?”

“Well,” Leorio said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was pretty clear that you didn’t want me to know. You had enough on your plate, I could tell, between the kids and your investigation and all. You so clearly weren’t ready for me to know, so I didn’t want to push. Also, in the spirit of full transparency… it was kind of fun messing with you.”

_“Excuse me?”_ Kurapika was honest enough to admit this one was definitely just a screech.

“Yeah,” Leorio confessed. “They were meant to be sort of… hints? That I knew? Sort of my way of testing the waters. You kind of shut down every time, so I didn’t push more. But… calling you hot when you were in my office. Asking for your number in the coffee shop. Our conversations at the damn Taco Bell, about you falling off a ladder and you looking out for the kids. Showing off the hickey.”

Somehow, it was this last example that snapped Kurapika out of his fugue of _he knows, he knows, he knows_ on a mental loop. “I _knew_ you were doing that on purpose!”

Leorio ducked his head, trying to hide his laugh. “Guilty as charged. Oh, that’s another thing! Chain talks like you. The same eloquence and intensity and word choice. Once I got the idea in my head, everything kind of fell into place. Maybe it was confirmation bias speaking. Because I wanted it to be you. But… I dunno. I just knew.”

“So you,” Kurapika coughed to clear his throat. “How long have you known?”

“I suspected at the first meeting,” Leorio admitted. He stepped closer to Kurapika. “I knew at the second.”

“How?” Kurapika asked. It was a stupid quesiton. It would be thrown out in court for repetition - _objection, the witness has already answered that question._ But only repetition seemed to be making sense to Kurapika in that moment.

_He knew. He knew. He knew. He knew._

_Leorio knew._

_He knew all along._

“I can’t explain it,” Leorio said. His voice dropped to something much quieter as he took a half-step closer to Kurapika. When he didn’t step away, he took another step until the two were a foot apart and Kurapika had to crane his neck back to meet Leorio’s gaze. “I just did. I spent enough time watching you from afar in that coffee shop. Take that, add it to talking to you and actually spending time with you… I just did. It was you. It could have only been you.”

Kurapika shivered at the words. _It could have only been you, too,_ he wanted to say, but the context was all wrong. Leorio spoke again.

“Are you angry?”

Kurapika thought about that. “Yes,” he finally decided. “I understand why you did what you did, and I understand why you didn’t say anything. I appreciate it, truly. This revelation is just… a lot to take in. I need some time to adjust. But it is not anger that won’t blow out with a bit of time.” Even as he said it, Kurapika felt the embers of anger fading away. Leorio had done what he could with the knowledge that he had. He had followed Kurapika’s lead to the best of his ability. Truth be told, Kurapika would have _certainly_ vanished from Leorio’s life forever if the doctor had revealed he knew this any earlier than this moment. Leorio only acted with the best of intentions, and Kurapika found it difficult to fault him for that. “The feelings are… complicated.”

“Humans are complicated.” Leorio repeated the phrase the same way he had when he was patching Kurapika up in his office. They smiled, though Leorio could not see Kurapika’s expression.

“There was something else I needed to say,” Leorio told him quietly. “But I’d like to - can I see your face, for this part of the conversation?”

Leorio asked this question with a soft hopefulness that a more powerful man than Kurapika would have found impossible to resist. So Kurapika only nodded. He felt frozen in place as Leorio reached for him. His hands shook as they slipped under his hood, brushing the hair at his temples as he pushed it back. Kurapika’s periphery opened up to take in the myriad of string lights as the fabric pooled around his shoulders. Then, Leorio’s fingers skated over the fabric of the dust mask, following the ties to where they looped behind Kurapika’s ears. He carefully removed the mask, tucking it into his pocket. And then, where Chain once stood was only Kurapika, blond hair glowing and gray eyes twinkling in the lights. He stepped towards Leorio and saw the way the doctor admired the way the embroidery in his robes flashed in the light.

Leorio smiled, and for the first time since they saw each other since the warehouse, his smile met his eyes. As if to himself, he murmured, “There he is.”

“What did you need to say?” Kurapika asked him.

“I…” Leorio sighed. His air became a puffy white cloud in the frigid air. “Shit. A month of trying to come up with the thing to say, and now I can’t string the words together.”

Kurapika swallowed. “That’s okay.”

“Says the eloquent lawyer,” Leorio teased. He looked away, gathering his thoughts. “My… boss started this, actually. She could tell I was out of it after everything with Chrollo. Well, for more reasons than the whole kidnapped-and-beat-up thing.”

“And shot,” Kurapika helpfully added, in case anyone had forgotten.

“And shot,” Leorio added magnanimously. “I couldn’t tell her everything, of course. So I told her I got dumped.”

“We were never dating,” Kurapika said like an idiot. As if that mattered. As if Kurapika hadn’t been moping around like they were for _weeks._

“I’m well aware,” Leorio said mildly. “But it _felt_ like I was dumped. So I told Cheadle about our last conversation. When I asked you if leaving was what you wanted.” He swallowed. “Again, I’m not trying to demand you change your mind. But Cheadle also said something to me that kind of blew my mind.” He took a deep breath.

“‘You will never get anything you want in life, Leorio, if you don’t ask for it,’” he recited. “Which is super obvious, right? No one gets what they want if they don’t say so. And I realized that while I asked you what you wanted, and I respected that, I also did that at the expense of telling you what I wanted. And that didn’t seem fair to either of us. To me, for not saying what I needed to; to you, because you deserve to know.”

Kurapika’s heart was up somewhere around his throat now. He wondered if Leorio could see it as he opened his mouth to ask, “And what is it you need to say?”

“I need to say,” Leorio started. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Looked Kurapika dead in the eye. “I need to say that you are one of the most incredible, brilliant, infuriating men I have ever met. You amaze me and surprise me and charm me. You are my favorite person. You don’t have anything to apologize for after what happened to me, but I know you blame yourself anyway, so I want you to know I forgive you. I forgive you and the danger and the fear and being kidnapped was worth it, because I got to know you and kiss you and hold you. I watched you whenever you weren’t watching me in that stupid coffee shop for weeks trying to buck up the nerve to speak to you. I’ll accept it and I won’t argue if you really, truly don’t ever want to see me again. But I don’t want this to be over. I’m not ready for this to be over. I want to see you. I want to spend time with you. _I want to be with you, Kurapika.”_ He swallowed roughly. “I just. I thought you deserved to know that. What do you want?”

Kurapika could only stand still in shocked silence as Leorio finished his speech. What did he _want?_ He had been suffering from the knowledge of what exactly he wanted for weeks, ever since he walked into Leorio’s hospital room and knew that he wanted to love Leorio with everything he had.

And looking up at Leorio, Kurapika knew he had found it. _It._ This… this was it, this was everything Kurapika wanted and needed and waited and looked for. This was it, he had found it with this man. This was closure and healing, happy endings and happier beginnings. This was the path and the journey and the destination.

“I want you,” Kurapika breathed. Half in awe and half in terror, he reached for Leorio’s hand. Leorio looped his fingers through Kurapika’s, held on, held tight. Leorio’s free hand went to trace Kurapika’s cheek. A brilliant, genuine smile was breaking like the night when he said, “I want this.”

“Great,” Leorio said. He was grinning now, nodding down at Kurapika like a fool. Kurapika knew he looked no better. “Great, that’s really great, just one last thing -”

And he kissed Kurapika.

Their first kiss felt like a meeting, the first steps through a new home. This kiss felt like a reunion. A homecoming. Kurapika looped his arms over Leorio’s neck, mentally cursing the almost full-foot difference between their heights. He felt Leorio frown in discomfort at the way the kiss made him arc his back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Hang on, this isn’t going to work,” Leorio mumbled distractedly against Kurapika’s mouth. “Just let me -”

The ground vanished from beneath Kurapika’s feet, his sense of gravity completely upended as Leorio hefted him up into his arms. Then there was the rough brick of the roof garden storehouse at his back, Leorio’s gentle hand supporting the back of his head, the other curled around Kurapika’s thigh as he hitched it around his hips.

And then there was Leorio, perfect, beautiful Leorio, grinning roguishly at Kurapika at eye-level. “Is that better?”

Was it _better?_ The only reason Kurapika didn’t have his tongue down Leorio’s throat this literal exact second was because his brain was still catching up to the inherent sexual tension of being lifted with the ease of a sack of flour. He was also still trying to remember how to speak, it seemed, because he could only nod. Under his hands was warm wool and firm muscle.

“Are you - are you kidding me?” Kurapika croaked. He ran his hands down Leorio’s biceps, over his chest, feeling the strength in his corded muscles. “No. No, you can’t just be brilliant _and_ stunning _and_ funny, no, you need to be _cut_ as well? This isn’t _fair._ Am I even heavy to you?”

“Not really, no,” Leorio said, beaming smugly. “But you’re really inflating my ego here. By all means, keep going.”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s fine,” Leorio said cheerfully. “There are lots of other ways you can do that.”

Kurapika felt a flush the color of his robes creeping up his neck. He felt very unlike himself as he stammered, “I - I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“No? I’ll be happy to show you,” Leorio said. Kurapika only just managed to make the connections between what Leorio said and what he meant when the man was kissing him again. Despite the compromising position, the kiss was chaste, sweet, tender, relentless in its intensity. It was all Kurapika could do to curl his arms around Leorio’s shoulders, his legs around his waist, his fingers sliding through his hair, responding in kind. Despite the unhurried pace, Kurapika was panting when Leorio pulled away for a breath. He watched Kurapika with half-lidded eyes.

“See, this is doing wonders for my ego.”

“You’re insufferable,” Kurapika told him. He hated the faint, breathy quality in his voice. Leorio chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again. But as soon as Kurapika tried to return it, he pulled back.

“Uh-uh,” Leorio said. “You had your turn to turn me into a weak-kneed mess. I’ve been thinking about how to get back at you for that for _weeks.”_

“I’m not sure -” Leorio pressed his lips to Kurapika’s jaw, following the curve of it back towards his ear. Kurapika cut off with a gasp, his head tilting reflexively to the side. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Leorio breathed. His lips tickled the shell of his ear. “Seriously. That was the best first kiss of my life. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. That knee at the end there?” His teeth closed around the dangling end of Kurapika’s earring and tugged. Kurapika inhaled sharply. “That was a dirty trick.”

Hypocrite. Kurapika wondered if Leorio could hear his heart racing. He wondered if the pounding in his chest was from his own thundering pulse or Leorio’s. He licked his lips. “Leorio.”

“Yes, sunshine?”

_Sunshine._ Kurapika's throat closed at the endearment, spoken with so much tenderness Kurapika ached with it. He loved it. _“Stop talking.”_

And he twisted Leorio’s face towards him, swallowing his laugh as he brought their mouths back together. This kiss was messier, their teeth banging and tongues clashing and it was passionate and eager and fervent and _perfect._ His blood sang with the intoxicating cocktail of joy, of lust, of relief, and his world narrowed to the points where their bodies met as Leorio kept kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, until Kurapika’s head spun and he felt drunk from it.

Leorio broke away to breathe, pressing his forehead to Kurapika’s. “Come home with me.”

Kurapika opened his eyes, blinking. His irises were flickering ruby red. “I - what?”

“Yeah, that was pretty intense,” Leorio said with a self-conscious chuckle. “I just meant. Do you want to stay over tonight? Not to do anything more than this. I, ah, I’m not ready for that. I just meant that in the most literal way. Do you want to come over to my place, and sleep, like _actually_ sleep -”

“Leorio,” Kurapika interrupted gently. He ran his fingertips over Leorio’s scruffy cheek, felt the way his stubble caught on the fabric. What he wouldn’t give to feel every line of Leorio’s body pressed along his, to run his hands over his arms and back and shoulders. “Yes. I’ll go home with you. Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Leorio agreed, though he made no move to pull away. Instead he was trailing his gaze painstakingly over Kurapika’s face, as if he was trying to memorize his appearance. Kurapika opened his mouth to promise that he did not need to commit his face to memory, that he wasn’t going anywhere, but before he could, Leorio said, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Kurapika felt pleasure and embarrassment in equal measure fizzle up his spine, his eyes flashing scarlet. He ducked his head, self-conscious. Leorio pressed his forehead and nose along his, their breath mingling. He added, “Including your eyes. Whatever color they are.”

Kurapika laughed weakly. “You are too good to me, Leorio.”

“And I don’t plan to stop, Kurapika,” Leorio promised. He pressed a kiss to his mouth again, long and lingering. Finally, he settled Kurapika back onto his feet, releasing all but his hand, whose fingers he tangled with his own. He held the door open for Kurapika as he led them back into the warm, secluded clinic building.

It took nearly an hour for them to finally return to Leorio’s one-bedroom apartment three streets away.

~

Kurapika awoke to his phone buzzing.

Then he heard a low, rumbling sound under his ear. His pillow moved, arcing away from him. Kurapika scowled petulantly and clutched Leorio tighter.

“Adorable and heart-melting as this is, sunshine,” Leorio mumbled sleepily, “My alarm is going to keep going off if you don’t let go.”

Ah. So it _wasn’t_ his phone. Kurapika grimaced and replied something incoherent. Still, he loosened his grip just enough to let Leorio roll away to turn off his alarm. In the sleepy, early-morning silence, Leorio flopped onto his back and let Kurapika curl into his side, head on his chest. Leorio’s hands traced lazy, swirling nonsense patterns over Kurapika’s back. Kurapika could only sigh, his body languid and mind utterly content.

When was the last time he slept so peacefully? When had he last felt so safe, so protected and warm and adored? Not in years. Not ever, if he was truly honest with himself.

“What time is it?” Kurapika asked, his face still pressed against Leorio’s shirt. It smelled like detergent and Leorio’s cologne. That was one of Kurapika’s silly daydream questions answered, it seemed.

“Seven,” Leorio answered. “It’s best for your sleep schedule to maintain your weekly routine even on the weekends.”

“So are we getting up?” Kurapika wondered.

“Yeah,” Leorio said sleepily, making absolutely no move to get out of bed. His other hand came up to card through Kurapika’s hair. “Sometime soon.”

“Mmhmm,” Kurapika agreed.

The sun was much higher in the sky the next time Kurapika opened his eyes. This time, it was definitely _his_ phone vibrating with an incoming text. Also this time, Leorio was the one to grumpily protest when Kurapika reached for the phone to read the incoming texts.

_**Killua Zoldyck, 10:43am. 1 Unread Message.** _

_Family dinner + Leonato + Gon at our place tonight. 6pm. Alluka & Nanika r cooking so bring tums._

_**Alluka Zoldyck, 10:44am. 1 Unread Message.** _

_Ignore kiki he’s being cranky bc we kicked him out of the kitchen!!!!!!!! We really hope to see u tonight mr kurapika!!!_ 🥰

Leorio rested his chin into the dip between Kurapika’s neck and shoulder, his fingers tracing immensely distracting circles over the strip of skin that Kurapika’s sleep shirt (borrowed from Leorio) revealed. He gave a throaty chuckle into Kurapika’s ear. “Well-read kid.”

“They were raised such,” Kurapika said, his tone remarkably even. Their late-night phone call across the airwaves almost two months ago had not done his voice justice. He sounded warm and sweet and _sexy_ in his ear. It was difficult to focus as he frowned at his screen.

“Something wrong?” Leorio asked softly. Kurapika breathed out a harsh breath.

“I have missed them,” he confessed softly, _“so much._ More than I ever thought I would. But I am scared to see them again. I fear I’ve let them down.”

“Because of the warehouse?” Leorio prompted. Kurapika nodded weakly. “That makes sense. It’s good of you to give them space. But isn’t it also good that they’re reaching out?”

“It is,” Kurapika said. His irises went pink, just enough to tint the whit screen. Dimly, he wondered when he had started to feel things so deeply. He wondered when he had stopped moderating his emotions. “I am… _so_ relieved.”

“I’m glad.” Leorio pressed a gentle kiss to Kurapika’s pulse, just under his jaw. “So, we’ll see them tonight?”

“Of course,” Kurapika said right away. “If you would like to accompany me.”

“I think those kids will paper my office over with sticky notes and wrap everything I own in aluminum foil if I don’t,” Leorio said, which made Kurapika laugh aloud. He typed a short reply of, _Yes, of course. I look forward to it. We will arrive at 5:30._

Almost immediately his phone started buzzing with, _we? we????? WE?????????????_ 👀👀👀

“They’re going to be losing their minds all day,” Leorio laughed into Kurapika’s shoulder. “Well done.”

“Thank you.” Kurapika switched his phone into silent mode and set it down on the table. He rolled over to face Leorio. He was beautiful like this, brown hair falling over his forehead, his eyes round. He looked so much younger without his glasses sitting on his nose. Charmed and utterly delighted that he could, Kurapika reached over to run a finger over the pillow crease on his cheek. He felt himself smile like a stupid, pining fool falling in love.

“We have a long day ahead of us,” Leorio said brightly. He smiled, slow and wide. “Is there anything you wanted to do?”

“Hm,” Kurapika murmured thoughtfully. Catlike, he lunged forward, gently pushing Leorio to his back and hovering just above him. Every delicious inch of Leorio pressed against him, his body warm and strong and pliant under his. Leorio blinked up at him, looking delighted and awed. Kurapika smirked down at him. “I have a few ideas.”

“Yeah?” Leorio asked. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Kurapika followed the motion with proud, appreciative eyes. He leaned down, his mouth a teasing hair’s breadth from Leorio’s lips.

“Yeah.”

Leorio’s hands reached up, grasping Kurapika’s face between his palms, pressing his mouth to his. Lips locked, chest-to-chest, hips-to-hips -

They did not speak for a long time after that.

~

“You think we got enough ice cream?” Leorio asked Kurapika sarcastically as they jogged up the safe house’s front steps.

“Probably not,” Kurapika replied cheerfully. In truth, they had gone a bit overboard in getting the kids ice cream. But Kurapika had made a mental note to get Nanika that confetti cake flavor she loved weeks ago, and Killua would only eat ice cream with a sickening amount of chocolate in it, and Leorio wanted to have healthier options so they had gotten sorbet, and yes, perhaps the two adults looked a bit ridiculous toddering up the the front steps with about six pints of ice cream in their shopping bags.

Kurapika lifted a hand to the door. Lowered his fist to knock. Felt himself freeze as the last lingering doubts echoed through his mind. He had pulled these kids into his mess. He had nearly killed someone in front of their eyes. Did he really have the right to want to be part of their lives, when all was said and done? Would they want him? Where would they even go from there?

Leorio gently knocked his shoulder (his upper arm, really) against Kurapika’s. “You can do this, sunshine. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Kurapika looked up at him, his gaze roving over his face, taking in the white button-up and tie that he was wearing to this family dinner. He made Kurapika feel underdressed in his warm sweater and jeans. He made Kurapika think that he was in fact very, very overdressed.

But they could not do anything more than check each other out on this front porch or in front of the kids, so Kurapika forced himself to look away and knock on the door.

A second later the door opened to a smirking Killua, who motioned them through the door into the living room. “Took you long enough.”

“No ice cream for you,” Kurapika said, and he laughed as Killua scowled and looked ready to complain or argue when Nanika and Alluka appeared in the doorway.

“Kurapika!” They cried, shoving Killua unceremoniously aside and launching themselves at him. Kurapika was more prepared than he was last time this happened as he mechanically lifted his arms and braced himself for impact. Leorio sent him a small wink as he took the bags from Kurapika’s outstretched arms and asked Killua to help him put things away. Eyes stinging, Kurapika put a hand on each of the girls’ backs.

“We missed you,” Alluka mumbled into Kurapika’s chest. He blinked in surprise, his heart stuttering and throat closing. He swallowed thickly.

“I… I’ve missed you, too,” he said. “So much. I’m sorry it took me so long to…” _To come back. To come home._

“You’re here now,” Kalluto observed from their place in the kitchen. They were slicing vegetables for a salad side-by-side with Gon, who was wearing a green apron with a smiling frog over the chest and enthusiastically talking about the latest fighters in Heaven’s Arena. Alluka and Nanika pulled away from Kurapika to check on whatever they had bubbling in the oven, and Kalluto slowly approached Kurapika. Shyly, they fiddled with their kimono ribbon.

Kurapika smoothed his hand over Kalluto’s shiny bob. Softly, he assured them, “I am.”

Kalluto looked up at Kurapika, pink eyes wide and unsure. Then they stepped into Kurapika’s arms, and Kurapika was hard-put not to cry or melt into the floor. Leorio sent him a soft-eyed, misty smile and a thumbs-up.

“We actually needed to talk to you,” Killua said from the kitchen. He had one hand in his pocket and a Yoo-Hoo with a pink curly straw in the other. Gon came up behind Killua and put his arms around his waist, his chin on Killua’s shoulder. Killua lifted the drink to Gon’s lips to let him sip. It was, frankly, adorable, and Leorio let out an audible _aww_ from where he was helping the girls set the table. Killua lifted his free hand from his pocket to send Leorio a rude gesture,. Kurapika needed to cover his mouth with a hand to stifle his laughter.

When did this happen? When had Kurapika stepped into _the_ peak unrealistic domestic fantasy, one so outlandish and forbidden that he had never even let himself consider it? When had he awoken into this dream? Had Chrollo really shot him a month ago, and this was all his comatose brain’s last synapses firing before Melody pulled the plug?

Well, that got morbid quickly. Still: he didn’t want to wake up. Please, no one wake him up.

“Very well,” Kurapika said. Killua pointed him and Leorio to the couch to sit. Kurapika was not sure how to act with Leorio sitting right next to him - things were still so new, they had not put a label on what they _were,_ let alone discussed the finer points of a relationship like how to handle public displays of affection - but Leorio curled his fingers through Kurapika’s fingers with a sweet, casual ease that left his chest feeling tight. Alluka and Nanika sat together in one of the armchairs, Kalluto in the other. They glared at Killua when he tried to sit with them, grumbling angrily and pushing Killua to sit on the carpet with Gon.

“What’s all this about?” Kurapika asked.

“Our protective detail,” Killua started.

“I wondered where Canary and Amane were,” Kurapika said. Alluka nodded.

“With our parents and brothers not leaving prison, the police don’t think it’s necessary that we have a twenty-four-hour protective detail anymore,” she explained.

Kurapika nodded. He had heard this from Detective Morel via email. “I’ve heard.”

“But they still think we should have someone staying with us,” Nanika said. She was fiddling with the ribbon of her robe in a nervous tic that Kurapika recognized from Kalluto.

“Since Killua isn’t enough of an adult to _really_ take care of us,” Kalluto said. Leorio snorted out a laugh he managed to turn into a cough; Killua glared at them both before he sighed.

“It’s true. I mean, I’ll still take care of them. Nothing is going to change that. But I can’t do it alone.”

“Okay?” Kurapika said, his voice a bit higher. His heart was starting to race, his palms sweat. Leorio ran his thumb over the back of Kurapika’s hand. The younger Zoldycks looked at Killua, as if to say, _speak, idiot._ Killua rolled his eyes, his cheeks going pink.

“Kurapika,” he started, “Leorio -”

“You know my name!” Leorio observed cheerfully. Kurapika elbowed him gently, ignoring Leorio’s grin down at him.

“Duh,” Killua said, his face flushing pinker. He took a breath like he was about to jump off of a high diving board. “Kurapika, Leorio, will you move in with us?”

Kurapika blinked. “I…”

“You don’t have to answer now,” Alluka said, jumping up. “I, ah, need to check the lasagna. And you don’t have to like, stay in the same room. Kiki can take the basement.”

“You can turn your computer room back into a real bedroom,” Kurapika reminded her.

“No,” Nanika said. She smiled, shy and nervous and brittle and hopeful. “We put too much work into making that look great. Also…” he looked at her brother and Gon’s places on the floor. “Would _you_ want to share a wall with him?”

“I’m _right here,”_ Killua argued moodily. Gon laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re not arguing, though,” he said. Killua swatted him away half-heartedly, smiling even as Gon laughed, high and bright.

“We…” Kurapika swallowed and wondered when the room had grown so warm. He glanced at Leorio. “We will have to talk about this?”

“Yeah, of course!” Nanika said. She hopped up. “I’m going to help Allie in the kitchen. Dinner soon!”

She left, shortly followed by Killua, Gon, and Kalluto. Kurapika sat with Leorio on the couch, feeling winded and like he had just run a mile and been hit in the head. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. He pinched himself to wake himself up. He didn’t wake up. _Why wasn’t he waking up?_

“What d’you think?” Leorio asked.

“What do I _think?”_ Kurapika repeated, his voice higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I think it’s…” Insane. Too much too fast. The best idea he’d ever heard.

Leorio grinned like he could read Kurapika’s thoughts written on his brain. “Well. They’re going to need people to look out for them, with everything coming up. They’ll need support and stability. I think a clinic doctor and a lawyer-slash-vigilante are pretty good for that.”

“That’s insane,” Kurapika said immediately. “That’s… a lot, really fast.”

Leorio nodded. “Yeah. It is.” He squeezed Kurapika’s hand. “Do you want to?”

Did he _want_ to? If he turned off his overthinking panic, his endless lists of things that could go wrong, what did he want?

He wanted a home. He wanted a family. He wanted _this._

Slowly, Kurapika nodded. “Yes.” Then, stronger, _“Yes.”_

He stood up to stride into the kitchen. His gaze swept over the kitchen, taking in the bright accents, the piles of dirty dishes. Alluka taking the lasagna out of the oven and Nanika turning off the oven. Kalluto flicking cherry tomatoes at Killua, who seemed torn between irritation and competing with Gon to see who could catch the most in his mouth. As one, the kids all turned to look at Kurapika.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

There was a pause.

Then there were three child-shaped blurs crashing into Kurapika’s front, sending him staggering back into Leorio. Then, more sedate but even stronger, Killua and Gon joined them. Kurapika made a sound that was half-laugh, half-cry, because something warm and happy was fizzing up his chest like a fresh soda. There were too many arms and elbows and chins. Kurapika felt the Zoldyck children cuddled up in front of him, Leorio at his back. He tilted his head to look up at Leorio, his smile soft and eyes wondering. Leorio grinned down at him to press his lips to Kurapika’s forehead.

And everything, _everything_ was perfect.

~

_**Three Weeks Later** _

“Kurapika,” Leorio hummed into his ear. He poked him gently along his side, finding the exact spot that made Kurapika squeak like a caught mouse. “C’mon, it’s past midnight. You should sleep.”

“Soon,” Kurapika promised, turning the page of his legal text. “I said I wouldn’t work tomorrow and I meant it. I just need to finish this last brief, and then I’ll be able to take the day tomorrow.”

“I know,” Leorio hummed. He smelled like the peppermint hot chocolate he had made with the kids earlier. The holiday lights from the tree and the lit candles from Kurapika’s Kurta Winter Solstice shrine glowed over his hair, twinkled in his eyes. “But tomorrow is now today, and you know the kids are going to be banging on the door at the crack of dawn.”

“It’s a fifty-fifty shot which one we’re in,” Kurapika replied. "We might get lucky. Get a few extra minutes out of it."

“Like that won’t wake you up,” Leorio said. He dipped his head to trail his lips over Kurapika’s collarbone, up his neck. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“You are being _intentionally_ distracting,” Kurapika chided him. He felt his skin warming, his body relaxing into the couch despite his insistences. Still, he was no pushover, and he needed to keep up that appearance. “I am reading tort law.”

“I love it when you talk business,” Leorio murmured against his skin, and Kurapika chuckled. “And of course I’m doing this on purpose. This is payback for making it impossible for me to finish that latest article about pediatric DBT in recovering from chronic childhood trauma, and you made it take me twenty minutes longer to read than it needed to.”

Kurapika smirked at the memory. “Twenty minutes well spent.”

“That they were,” Leorio agreed into Kurapika’s ear, laughing warmly. “C’mon, sunshine. You’ve been working all day, every day since you started as DA. Get some rest.”

Kurapika sighed. “Fine,” he acquiesced. He would not be getting any more work done that night, anyway, if Leorio kept trailing kisses over his neck like that. “Very well, let’s - mmph.”

Leorio had taken his jaw in one hand, twisted his head gently, and pressed his mouth to Kurapika’s. He settled his book carefully onto the table before he turned into the kiss. This time four months ago, he had been too nervous to approach this man and ask him his name. Now Kurapika got to hold him and annoy him and kiss him and wake up to him in their home with their kids, an instant family that Kurapika had never, ever thought he would find again.

But he did not _find_ it, not really. He built it. They all built it, together. It wasn’t the most traditional start, but it was home. It was love.

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweeps off my hat into a bow* the family is found, your honor.
> 
> thank you so much for reading this!!!! if you like, please leave a comment/kudos on this work! i am thinking of putting up a oneshot of leorio's pov of the events of this story, if folks would want to read it. 
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr @notantherwritingblog! i'm so so down for chats and i post nothing but writing and stupid memes. 
> 
> thank you for reading and be well, all!! 💖💖💖


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